How High the Moon
by Color Me Gray
Summary: She was terrified of heights. Just the sight of a broomstick made her queasy. Who would have guessed that she’d be the one to teach him how to fly? CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: Sandpaper Tongue
1. Prologue: Spectator Sport

Despite the misleading title, the main charecter of this piece is Charlie Weasley. But worry not, Remus fans! He appears in a vital role later in the story, along with everybody's favorite shapeshifting crimefighter, Tonks. Now that your worries are gone, on with the show!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

******How High the Moon**

(Formerly titled 'Tears of Heaven')

******.ψ.****  
**

******Prologue: Spectator Sport **

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

"William Abeus Monfred Weasley!"

The shrill cry rang out in the hospital room like the oft quoted 'shot heard round the world'.

Charlie, who had long since grown used to his mother's antics, merely peered at his brother over the top of his copy of the Daily Prophet.

Only two days after Professor Dumbledore's funeral, Bill's condition had relapsed and he had been rushed back to St. Mungo's as his face began to bleed at an alarming rate. Yet despite their best attempts, the healers were at their wits' ends for a cure, and Bill could not move his lips to speak without opening fresh gashes between his scars.

The bed ridden man threw him a secret wink before rolling his eyes and beginning to scratch something out on a sheet of parchment in response to their mother's cry.

_-I'm going to try it.-_

Family arguments are a lot like a good Quidditch game, Charlie decided as he settled back in with his paper, keeping one eye one the unfolding match in front of him. He had always preferred to keep amused by running a silent commentary of the plays rather than join in.

"Bill, you will do no such thing! Do you hear me young man?" Began his mum, coming out early with a strong offense.

"Bill, are you sure dat zat es a good idea?" interjected his soon-to-be sister-in-law, pouting and looking slightly too attractive to be his brother's fiancé.

_-Can't get married if I'm still stuck in here, can we?-_

"I will make eet 'apun anywhere, if you are there." Fleur grumbled, slowly but surely losing ground as Bill made eyes at her.

Bill had always been the most persuasive of all his brothers, and she had never really stood a chance against such an excellent offence.

"Now Molly, honestly dear, the boy's a grown man."

Charlie couldn't help but smile as Mr. Weasley made a valiant effort using diversionary tactics. Much as he loved his dad, it was as plain as the freckles on his face that it was up to Bill to win this game on his own.

"Grown Man? Pah!"

"Uv course my Bill is a man!"

Charlie gave a little inward cheer, knowing that his brother had just succeeded in turning the tides of the match. With Fleur on his side, he might just stand a chance of getting his way.

"Molly, he'll never be happy if we don't let him make his own choices!"

"Of course he'll be happy! All men are happy when left to their own devices. Ignorance is bliss!"

"I resent that!" Cried his father, raising a gangly finger in indignation.

He found himself snorting despite the stinging blow to his gender. Mum could certainly put some whollop behind those buldgers when she was determined. Charlie was more than happy to observe and laugh, glad not to be in the path of the storm.

"Now wait zust a minute! My Bill, 'e has brains for a undred men."

Mrs. Weasley shot her a withering look that would have made a charging hippogryph cower, and continued on. Fleur, finally seeing the futility of her shrieking, timidly sat back down next to his brother.

"I'm sure you would. Who are you to be sticking your nose in medical business again, any how? After that nonsense with those … those … stitches!" She began to swell with every word, red and fiery as any dragon Charlie had ever seen.

In fact, given the choice of faceing one of the two, he would have picked the dragon any day.

Thus, in his heart, Charlie was quite content to ponder the action, and did not envy Bill his trouble. Trying to sway his mother from a decision was like trying to breed a housebroken horntail. God just did not intend for certain feats to ever be achieved by mere mortal man.

Yet even in the humor of the moment, he could not help but feel a small surge of jealousy, not just of Bill, but of his parents as well. Bill and Fleur, Mum and Dad, -flustered and grouchy though they were- had someone to fight with. Charlie knew in his heart of hearts that it was not just Fleur's undeniable charm that had him in a sad state of loneliness. It seemed as though the entire world around him had begun to pair off, comforting each other and taking strength in those they loved as uncertainty grew closer. Even his little brother and sister had found someone.

"After all," he mused as a charmed bedpan flew through the air, a victim of the quickly escalating war, "what's the fun of playing the game without another team to fight?"

Bill's scratching pen broke his thoughts as the source of the entire trouble stood in the doorway and stopped dead.

Charlie looked up to see a very familiar pair of eyes.

"Long time no see, huh?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**.ψ.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** The story title is inspired by a wonderful song called 'How High the Moon?', which was made famous by one of my favorite singers, Ella Fitzgerald. The lyrics are as follows:

Somewhere there's music  
How faint the tune  
Somewhere there's heaven  
How high the moon  
There is no moon above  
When love is far away too  
Till it comes true  
That you love me as I love you

Somewhere there's music  
How near, how far  
Somewhere there's heaven  
It's where you are  
The darkest night would shine  
If you would come to me soon  
Until you will, how still my heart  
How high the moon

As with any author/authoress, I adore comments and constructive criticism, and I am most motivated to write when told that people are interested in what I'm doing. If you like what you've read, a few moments of your time to comment would be deeply appreciated. If not, then thank you for reading any how.


	2. Spark and Flame

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.  
**

** Chapter One: Spark and Flame**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**  
**

_There she goes  
__There she goes again__  
Racing through my brain  
__And I just can't contain  
__This feeling that remains __  
_

_There she goes__  
There she goes again__  
She calls my name She pulls my train__  
No on else can heal my pain__  
And I just can't contain  
__This feelin that remains_

_There she goes  
__There she goes again__  
Chasing down my lane__  
And I just can't contain__  
This feeling that remains_

_-'There She Goes', Sixpence None the Richer _

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Long time no see, huh Charlie?"

Surprise jolted through him as his old friend walked into the chaotic hospital room, all thoughts of broomsticks and buldgers now forgotten.

"Stella?" He asked as his newspaper slipped to the floor.

"Don't call me that _gatito_." She grimaced, setting down her wand and clip board before nearly smothering him in a warm, sisterly hug.

"It's Myra. If I tell you once, I'll tell you a hundred times, my name is Myra." She informed him with mock severity when she let go.

Yep, it was Stella alright.

Same olive skin, same aura of earthy sensibility, same warm smile that reminded him of a hot cup of chocolate.

Definitely Stella.

That grin brought back memories of the first time he had discovered her uncanny knack for fire-related charms, and the first night that she had joined him and the boys down in Geoff's Gorge for their campfires. That smile had made even the cold Romanian nights light up like dragonspark.

Charlie couldn't hold back a little yelp of happiness as he finally broke though his shock.

"I can't believe it's you, girl! What are you doing here?" He cried, returning the fierce hug and lifting the shorter girl several inches off the floor before releasing her.

She chuckled once back on solid land, tucking a stray stand of black hair back into the snood that she never took off.

In fact, when he thought about it for a moment, he had never seen her with her hair down in all of the six short months that he had known her. Stella, he had long ago concluded, was a bit of a creature of habit. The straightforward girl had always preferred earth colored robes, and wore her thin rectangular glasses and favorite silver chain like they were her second skin. Pretty skin too, he noted without meaning to.

It was hard to look at any girl these days without conjuring up mental images of snogging her in a dark corner somewhere, feeling as lonely as he had been lately, and it seemed that Stella was no exception.

Charlie spent a few minutes seriously considering grabbing her, dashing out, and doing just that after seeing that their time apart had improved her ... feminine charms.

No, make that considerably improved, he amended. She had always been a bit short and stocky, no so very unlike himself, but now stocky had matured into eye-pleasing curves that had created a bit of a lump in his throat as he tried desperately to think of something else.

Charlie began to turn red – even more red than usual – and prayed that she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Even his freckles seemed to burn with shame. She had always been a good friend to him, he thought guiltily. She deserved better than him acting like a bloody pig.

It would have been much easier if she hadn't been so easy on the eyes.

Thankfully, Stella was no mind reader, or else Charlie would have been lucky to escape the room, let alone retain his ability to reproduce.

She was oblivious to his dilemma though, and continued on with the rough side of her tongue without missing a beat.

"What? No 'hello Myra'? No 'it is wonderful to see you Myra'?" There was a familiar glint in her eyes that told him she found the entire situation entirely too funny for words.

"Not even a 'how are you Myra'? Charlie, you ass, I'm wounded!"

Her sense of humor was still the same too, Charlie concluded.

"It's good to see you too Stella." He murmured and smiled, knowing that she was no longer paying him any mind.

By this point, the others had noticed that there was another person in the room. They had, in fact, grown silent as they watched the two of them with unconcealed curiosity. Charlie felt like a particularly unusual specimen in a zoo. He hated being the center of attention like this, and wished he could sink into the ground until their attentions were directed elsewhere.

Stella, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. Just the opposite, unfortunately. She adjusted her glasses and then planted her fists on her green gowned hips as Charlie found himself thinking that only one woman on earth could make those ugly healer's uniforms nearly that attractive.

But something dropped in the pit of his gut though, as he watched her survey the results of his parent's disharmony with ill concealed distaste. The frown on her face grew like a bad engorgement charm, and showed no signs of stopping. Even the thin lenses of her glasses had a disapproving, vengeful glare to them, giving her the air of a very disgruntled little bird of prey.

He had a pretty good idea of what was coming next, and now he really wished he could hide.

"Mrs. Weasley," She ordered, "I will thank you to stop upsetting my patient and put down that bedpan!"

The room went still.

"Mrs. Weasley," Stella positively growled, "If you don't unhand my bedpan this instant, I'm gonna boot you outa here quicker than you can say 'Fizzing Whizbees'."

Mrs. Weasley, who was unused to being addressed in such a manner, dropped the bed pan from sheer shock.

It was probably for the best that she did, Charlie mused.

Stella was used to having her commands obeyed in the medi-tent back at the reserve, and it seemed that St. Mungo's had done nothing to change that. Mum very well might have ended up sharing the ward with Bill if she crossed her in a bad mood. She was a wonderful friend, and very carefree and silly when not on the job, by the short witch was almost as protective of her patients as Mrs. Weasley was with her children.

"That's one match up I _pray_ I never see." Charlie muttered fervently to no one but himself.

Charlie's father, who had paused with his finger still in the air, sheepishly hid his silly looking uplifted hand into the pocket of his well darned blue robe as Fleur crept out from her hiding place behind the bedside table. Mum simply collapsed into the stiff hospital chair, limp, abashed, and too astonished for words.

Stella's annoyance began to visibly fade as the room took on some semblance of order, although the portrait on the far wall portraying one Cletus Cragstone glared down at the lot of them looking like some sort of vicious, deadly breed of chicken. Once the family had settled down, Stella fell back into her normal, business-like manner.

"Thank you. Now, I'm on a tight schedule today, so I haven't got time for any more nonsense."

His mother's glare could have given a fire-loving salamander frostbite.

"However Mr. Weasley," She addressed Bill, "I understand that some of you family members are concerned."

Her sharp expression softened a bit as she looked his mother's way. "That is quite common with a procedure of this gravity, so I feel that I ought to run over the basic idea one last time before we start up the wand work. I want to be sure that everyone is comfortable with what we are doing, yes?"

Bill's quill began to skitter across his parchment again, and Fleur took his other hand in hers, stroking it nervously.

_- You don't need to. I've made up made up my mind.- _

"Be that as it may, Mr. Weasley," she said with a faint smile for Charlie's immobile brother, "I'd like to put your mother's worries to rest."

Bill just rolled his eyes, but Mrs. Weasley's glare relaxed by some minute fraction.

_- Up to you Doc, but call me Bill. No need to be formal, I trust Charlie's judgment. –_ He wrote with another wink for his younger brother.

Charlie gave a little inward moan. Mom had been after him for years about 'finding a nice girl', and even his father was shooting Stella a reconsidering glance. Mum was studying her like she had just discovered the missing link, and all was apparently forgiven as far as Molly Weasley was concerned. This was all he needed.

It was all Charlie could do not to strangle Bill in his hospital bed.

As usual, Stella was oblivious to his anxious state, giving his brother a similar smile and roll of the eyes as she seemed to realize for the first time that she had forgotten to introduce herself.

"I seem to have forgotten to tell you my name." She laughed quietly, and began to amiably shake hands all around after setting her wand and clipboard down again for the hundredth time.

"Told you so." Charlie chuckled to himself as she seemed to read his mind. Stella wasn't really possessed with 'the social graces', as his mother frequently liked to call them, and her blunt and honest nature sometimes made her come across as snobbish and rude. Only those who took the time to know her learned the real truth, and he had never regretted doing so.

"I'm Healer Myra Estrella, but since you're Charlie's family," she shot him a devious look, "Just call me Myra."

"'Ow do you two know eachuzer?" Fleur blurted out the question on everyone's mind.

Stella's grin only deepened as she recounted how they had met at the Wallachia Mountains Dragon Reserve, and his family quickly seemed to warm up to her more and more. (Though Mum remained uncharacteristically silent through out the introductions, still undecided.)

"But enough about me." She said after a few minutes of chatter, "We are here about Bill."

"The treatment is going to be touch and go, I'll warn you, but I do believe I've found something that just might do the trick."

With a flick of her wand, the candle bubbles in the room dimmed and a hologramic model of Bill's head appeared above the bedside table.

"As you can see, the wounds have become infected with werewolf venom, and it is quickly causing all of the veins and capillaries under the skin to burst. The venom is also the reason that Bill's blood is having such difficulty clotting. Normally, of course, werewolf venom is delivered in such small doses that the victim is hardly affected at all … aside from the obvious reactions … but this is a complex case due to the massive toxin overdose, as well as the fact that that bloody bastard wasn't fully transformed."

Bill watched with unconcealed humor as his mother's eyes widened at Stella's profanity, but as usual Stella was quite oblivious and continued on with only a slight pause for what Charlie suspected was quite a vulgar mutter about Greyback that no one could understand.

"This is a rather unprecedented sort of injury, so I've had to be … shall we say creative with the remedy. It took me nearly a week, and I had to scour every last bloody textbook in Greasehound's, but in the end I found the solution with some adaptation of a few muggle techniques. Even muggles can have a brilliant turn or two every now and then I suppose." She said with a fond smile, one that was mirrored happily by Charlie's father.

Molly Weasley, however, did not share this opinion.

Her already dark grimace became a downright murderous thunderhead when the words 'muggle technique' were uttered. Charlie knew that she would never forget the day his father had dabbled in muggle medicine, and shuddered at the prospect of the row he knew was coming.

The violence, however, was headed off unexpectedly by Stella.

"I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, this is not some sorry half-assed attempt like what Trainee Pye pulled a few years back. Yes Mr. Weasley, you two are rather notorious around here for that stunt." For once, Stella and Mum provided a united front against a nearly cowering Dad as they frowned sternly, but Charlie watched tensely as Mrs. Weasley turned her attentions back to his friend with polite severity.

"You aren't going to use any _knives_, Healer Estrella? No needles and thread?"

"Heavens no!" Stella shuddered. "We are not barbarians here, Mrs. Weasley. This procedure is entirely magical. It is only the basic idea that we are borrowing."

"It's called cauterization." She turned back to the floating model, whose skin began to heat and form scabs, then heal over. "We use a very precise type of flame charm to sear the flesh and seal off the ends of the blood vessels. There will be several months of unpleasant scabbing, but eventually the skin will heal itself to some degree of normalcy."

Everyone in the room grimaced at the realistic hissing noise, including Bill, which caused a few tiny rivulets of blood to run down his mangled cheek.

"I know it's not pleasant, but I believe it will be just the thing and you will be back on your feet in no time." She tried to sound cheery as the hissing head vanished and the candles relit themselves.

"Well Bill, if you are sure that you have no further objections, we will begin."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**.ψ.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** _Gatito_ roughly translates to 'little (male) cat'. I'm pretty sure about that translation, but if I'm wrong feel free to correct me. I've only taken a few years of Spanish. More on why she calls him that later.

I'm basing Bill's wounds off of poisonous spider bites, as I (being a mere muggle) do not know precisely what a werewolf inflicted wound is supposed to look like, and thought that this would be appropriately gruesome. If you want a better picture of what I'm talking about, Google brown recluse spiders, whose venom causes tissue to decay in rather visually unpleasant ways if left untreated. Granted, it seems a little odd for werewolves (even partially transformed ones) to have venomous bites, but I'm working on the premise that they are magical creatures and can do whatever the heck they bloody well please, thank you very much.

The treatment I described is modeled after information provided by my wonderful mum, who happens to be a nurse, and my own imagination (scary little devil, inint it?) Obviously more imagination than fact, but see the clause in the last paragraph about magic and doing whatever I bloody well please. I am the literary goddess, hear me roar! (Sorry, the god complex gets this terrible hold on me sometimes, ha ha)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_**Fenix- **Glad to interest you. I hope this answers some questions … and creates more, like any good story. I'm happy to know that you find it worth the read, it makes my day to know that my stuff is enjoyed._

_** Possum- **Thanks, glad to know you were paying attention. I – being a woman (and a muggle to boot) – am a bit worried that writing from a man's perspective won't come off quite right, so I hope that it comes off decently. _

_**Harrypottermagic32-**do you mind if I call you HPM? So much easier on the fingers. Any who, my heart is warmed when I hear that someone has taken a fancy to my stuff, so I was over the moon to get such a nice review. Thank you. Like I said to Possum, I am not a man nor am I a wizard, and thus I am a bit worried about my ability to write a good piece from Charlie's perspective. I always appreciate what you might have to say about how it goes in the future!_

_**Fenix- **Thanks for the Spanish help. I checked out your profile, and I gotta say that a 5 on your AP is no mean feat. (5 is the highest grade right? Its been a year since high school and don't posses much in the way of long term memory. Lol.) any who, kitten is exactly what I was going for. Its her pet name for Charlie, but like I said before, you'll have to keep reading to find out why. Glad to fill you up with questions, as that is any good authoress's job, no? By the way, please feel free to correct me if I ever get anything wrong Spanish-wize, as I'm not a native speaker and only took three years in high school. (I'll spoil you a little and let you in on an upcoming plot tidbit. Myra's Abuelo was from Spain, so you'll see little bits of the language coming through in the story.) Oh, and Molly got the bed pan during the argument in the prologue. I believe there was a bit in there about it being charmed to fly through the air to hit someone. Ten bucks on who did the aiming…_

_**Possum- **Yeah, she is brave …or maybe just a little dumb. Who knows? I never did say she was a Gryffindor, now did I? And I will definitely give that fic a look when I get a chance!_

_This is random, but I saw a dead possum on the side of the road this morning on my way to class, and was sad. It looked so … squishy. Which reminds me of finding Nemo. Can I call YOU my squishy? (I have this weird thing with finding nicknames for my reviewers, please don't be creeped out.)_


	3. Shadow Walks Beside Me

**How High the Moon  
**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Two: Shadow Walks Beside Me  
**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I walk a lonely road  
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes  
But its home to me and I walk alone_

_I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
and I'm the only one and I walk alone_

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone_

_-Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fleur and the Weasleys had been exiled to the Fifth floor visitor's tea room once the procedure began.

'The Procedure'.

How Stella could talk about something so utterly foul with such nonchalance, he would never know. So cool, so detached, as though she were discussing a half remembered novel over tea … 'the procedure'.

Charlie wanted to vomit.

He, Charlie Weasley! As a Quidditch player, he had seen his share of wounds. Had a few himself, in fact. As a conservationist, he had helped egg-laden mothers and assisted in a few emergency surgeries. He had spent countless hours of the last seven years of his life in strange, muggle originating pants called 'hip-waders' wallowing though several tons of dung every day without fail. Hell, he had had his bloody arm ripped off a few times!

But this … just thinking about the hissing sound that that ghastly head had made gave him the willies.

How in the name of Merlin did the girl do it?

It had taken all of ten minutes for Charlie to feel as trapped as a rat in a cage in the tea room, pacing and imagining the horrors that lay ahead for his brother. He knew he couldn't stay there for the four long hours Stella had predicted it would take to burn the skin on Bill's face.

Ehh… burning skin …

No, best just not to think about it, he decided.

Outside St. Mungo's, outside and caught in a swirl of muggles as he plodded despondently through the narrow backstreets of London, Charlie tried desperately to do just that … but found himself failing miserably.

"How could anyone do that for a living?" He wondered out loud to himself, only to laugh and recall Stella once saying the very same thing about his own chosen profession.

But Charlie Weasley could not imagine doing anything else.

Dragons had captivated him since he was a child. When he was four, his side of the dresser had mysteriously begun to fill with tiny, lifelike models that flew and gave occasional blasts of miniature flame, much like the muggle matches his dad was so intrigued by. Those little dragons had burned many a fascinated finger (much to his mother's irritation).

At five, (instead of paying attention to his mother's home schooling) he was rapidly digesting every book he could find on the subject. She still shone with pride sometimes when she reflected back on his early ability to read, beating even brainy Percy out for the title of youngest one to learn. Back then Dad had often brought him well-worn, second hand volumes upon returning from mysterious Order business only to leave a few days latter, just as bedraggled and tired as the day he came home.

Charlie had continued to faithfully build the library during the long and frightening absences as he tried to comfort his mother as best as a small boy could, by watching his younger brothers and helping her cook. Despite his natural urge to cause mischief, which could rival Fred and George's any day, Charlie had become the peacekeeper of the house by the time he was seven.

As he grew up under the shadow of war, worry, and his mother's half whispered midnight prayers, Charlie was Ron's minder, helped the twins learn to use the loo, and grew wise in the ways of changing little Ginny's dirty nappies. As they got older, he became Bill's conscience and Percy's shoulder to cry on when Cedric Diggory and Hector Fawcett picked on his glasses. And through every difficulty, every long hour spent waiting up for Dad to come home, he kept at that library, slowly adding to it with his meager but carefully saved pocket change and finding his escape in dreams of dragons.

With each new book carefully placed on the faded shelves, he felt somehow closer to his dad. Busy with juggling his work with the Order and two jobs to feed his family, Arthur did not know his own children. He had missed Charlie's first steps, first words … first everythings.

Despite the love that both father and son took for granted, they were practically strangers. Little Charlie felt the loss like an empty hole inside. Somehow, deep in his secret and childish heart, Charlie harbored an unspoken faith that as long as he had his dragons and as long as he kept adding to dad's books, someday Mr. Weasley would have to come home safe and sound forever.

By eleven, the collection of dragon books that had seen him through a hard childhood now took up its own book case in the library. It was there that he and his father would spend many sunny summer afternoons of his puberty getting to know each other for the first time, sharing favorite passages and reading quietly in the one sanctuary of the noisy house.

Mr. Weasley had continued to encourage his son's fascination with the beasts that Charlie had come to love (despite his own badly concealed misgivings of the beautiful things), and Charlie knew by his first Christmas at Hogwarts that there was nothing on earth he wanted more than to see a dragon fly.

He smiled to himself as he thought aimlessly about his past, his future, and about dragons. He entertained himself by idly kicking a rusted can around as he wandered through the dirty back alleys of London. It was hard not to think about Bill, hard not to flinch and murmur a prayer when he did.

Charlie tried to think of pleasant things as the twilight began to fade from the sooty rooftops.

He would never know quite what it was about them that drew his mind like a _Lodstonus Notra_ charm, but dragons had seen him through the best and worst things in his life so far and they had brought his dad back to him. He had never been great shakes at putting his feelings into words, and had always been labeled 'the quiet Weasley' by those who did not know any better. In truth, words just couldn't convey what he felt every time a dragon shadow fell over him back at the reserve.

Their power, their grace, their rugged refusal to be tamed or tampered with ... everything about them made his heart beat faster.

The soft noise of someone clearing their throat startled him out of his reverie.

As he looked up, his heart really did do a bit of pounding.

"Stella!"

"The one and only." She quipped dryly with a little half smile playing on the edge of her lips. "And don't call me that, you troll."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I like that one, I do! 'What are you doing here?', like I'm some mongrel slobbering on your mum's best rug!" She tried to affect seriousness, but Charlie knew that she couldn't keep a straight face to saver her life. "First no proper hello, now just a 'What are you doing here?' I swear, your manners are as bad as Quex's."

Her smile grew wider when he said nothing, mistaking his inability to speak for petulance at being scolded.

"I came to find you, you great dolt! I've been done for nearly three hours now. Your mum's been pacing around the tea room, wearing a hole in the …"

"Oh my God! Bill! Is he… Did he …"

Charlie couldn't bring himself to ask the question that had been haunting him for what seemed like years instead of hours. He bowed his head, leaning back against the graffiti smeared wall and preparing for the worst.

"Oh, Charlie." She said simply and sympathetically as he felt her cool hand on his cheek.

"Do you have so little faith in me?" She tried to make him laugh, but the moment that his eyes raised up to meet hers, that tiny smile vanished from her face as though disaperating, replaced by sisterly concern.

"Then he's … He'll be …"

"Fine, Charlie. Good as new in a few months." She paused a moment thinking. He could only sigh and slump back against the wall in relief.

"Well, no, not good as new. He'll never be the same."

As Charlie looked into her eyes, he saw emotions that he had never even believed her fully capable of just nineteen months earlier: Sadness, weariness, and empathy that ran deeper than a cold well. Had it really been such a short time since he last saw her?

He had met her nearly two years ago when she was putting the final touches on her training to become a healer, working one of her specialty degrees in creature inflicted wounds on the Llewellyn Scholarship. She had reattached his right leg after a nasty incident with a Moldavian Man-eater, after which they had shared a cup of tea and talked of England. When it became clear that she was a willing conspirator to the occasional (and usually pyrotechnic) prank upon his unsuspecting coworkers, it had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

She was a sweet, warm person, and most of the men at Wallachia had given her at least a glance or two, despite her then boyish figure. Yet not one of the twenty odd 'lifers' on staff there had gone further than that. It was odd, given the fact that WMBRF had not played host to any single woman for more than three months at a time in nearly thirty years, but Stella had exuded an … aura. It was as if someone had forgotten to inform her as a child that men were good for more than friendship, and she was so well liked that no one had wanted to press the issue.

And so it was that the men of Wallachia Mountains had come to adopt Myra Estrella as a sort of surrogate little sister. For six months, they had laughed at her absurdities and odd sense of humor, chased off unwanted suitors, and taken her domineering medical attitudes in stride. She had mothered them to her heart's content for half a year, and then she had left.

Yet here she was again like some sort of miracle, in a dark greasy alley, cupping his cheek in her hand and so different from the little girl he had said goodbye to. Both her professionalism and playfulness had vanished and Charlie saw a deep concern and worry in her eyes that he never knew she was capable of. He had seen her as a healer, a co-worker, a friend, almost a second sister, even as a beautiful girl (though he would never tell her that), but this was a new side of Stella.

It was as though he had finally peeled away the face she showed the world to see, pulled back some invisible boundary between happy-go-lucky friend and the human being she was hiding. He saw something in that brief glance that surprised him, something inside her that went down deeper than he had been prepared to find.

But before he could do anything more than glance, the old Stella was back. Her expression hardened imperceptibly, and a few drops of innocence left her features. She was sympathetic and understanding, and there was no lack of sisterly love emanating from her, but she had put the wall back up and seemed to want to keep it that way.

"I wish I could sugar coat this for you, _gatito_, but I you know I don't like to lie."

It was true. Stella was a terrible liar in the first place, but more importantly she was one of the few women on earth whose sole mission in life did not seem to be befuddling and confusing the every man in sight. She disliked beating around the bush, and was literally honest to a fault at times.

The best part was that she rarely realized just how socially unacceptable many of her comments were, because it provided him with endless material for taunting purposes. Just thinking about it reminded him of the time she had called the President of Wallachia Mountain Breeding and Research Facilities a pompous, egotistical bastard to his face at the staff Christmas Party.

He couldn't help but smile in spite of himself and his curiosity, but Stella had already begun to walk away and he had more important things to think about than Stella making weird faces at him. He had to get back to Bill.

Unfortunately, he had no idea where they were and could not apperate. When he pointed this out to Stella, she got grouchy and replied in an aggravated growl (which reminded Charlie strongly of Mad-Eye Moody) that he knew very well that she didn't like to apperate.

"Like having your guts turned inside out, that. Blech. I'll take my own two legs, thank you very much. Besides, he won't be awake for a few days."

After that, they walked in relative silence except for her occasional profane mutters about men and insensitivity.

By the time they arrived back at St. Mungo's and were admitted by the ugly mannequin, it was nearly eight o'clock. Stella had finally stopped grunting rude things under her breath, and slipped back into her healer's robe just as they reentered the ward where Bill lay sleeping. It was oddly comforting, Charlie decided, to have mum fussing over him and his disappearance, a sign that all was still right with the world.

Stella too, was back to normal and behaving as though nothing odd had happened. She made small talk with his parents and Fleur while they watched Bill breath through a tube that had been charmed to fit between his horrendously bloated lips. She comforted them, explaining that the swelling and scabbing were only temporary and would react well to several very simple charms over the next several days and that the wedding could still take place in a few weeks.

"He will be his old self in no time, don't worry Miss Delacour. I give him no more than two weeks before he'll be plotting on how to escape his hospital bed, if he's anything like Charlie used to describe him." She said with an encouraging smile.

"Zat is my Bill," Fleur cried proudly, "E is as stubourn as a bull."

When Stella brought up his stories, Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow and inquired –none too subtly- about how he and Stella knew each other.

Despite the happy confident atmosphere of the softly lit, wood-paneled room, Charlie felt his stomach sink a bit. There were _quite_ a number things he had never told mum, knowing instinctively that she would spend endless hours worrying about his safety if informed. He secretly crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Stella would have the common sense not to mention any of the _really_ dangerous things that had sent him to her makeshift little tent for visits at three AM.

Sadly, Stella rarely did what people though she ought to.

She launched into a saga of epic proportions involving some of the more 'interesting cases' she had had the 'privilege of encountering' in the wilds of Romania. The worst one had to have been when she told them about the incident with the territorial disputes of two nesting female Iron-Bellies, after which she made an offhand comment that had Charlie wishing he knew how to get a time-turner past the Unspeakables down at Ministry Headquarters without getting sent to Azkaban.

"I have to admit Charlie, I'm impressed that you managed to keep your self in one piece since I last saw you. I would have wagered a couple of galleons that you'd be missing something important after a year and a half of playing with our scaly little friends. And without any proper medical aid, I might add." Her tone made it infinitely clear to Charlie just what she thought of the lax health care at Wallachia Mountains.

Mum was not impressed.

It was growing more and more obvious every minute that Molly Weasley was not fond of his bold, brash, tactless friend. Fleur had instantly taken a liking to her soon-to-be-husband's rescuer, and his father had ceased to be stiff and formal when she told him that she was currently living in a muggle apartment (it had sparked a half hour's worth of discussion on something called Elecklicity, which Charlie had never understood nor cared to learn about), but Charlie's mother could not be budged.

Once Stella had made it apparent that she and Charlie were not romantically involved -she had even laughed at the idea!- his mother no longer had a very high opinion of the woman who enjoyed reattaching people's limbs to their bodies as a means of employment.

Thus it was -with a very heavy heart- that at 1:47 in the morning Charlie heard Stella ask the fatal question.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**.ψ.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** The principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia - for centuries under the suzerainty of the Turkish Ottoman Empire - secured their autonomy in 1856; they united in 1859 and a few years later adopted the new name of Romania, according to the CIA webpage of the world. I want to make my references to Romania as accurate as I can. I am going to base it off of factual information about Romania, and the dragon preserve off of basic premises assumed in any kind of national park or wildlife refuge. More on that later.

Charlie's age is based off of canon, some reasonable deduction, and a bit of help from lexicon. I'm trying to construct a fairly all inclusive age chart of the more important characters for my own purposes right now, so chapters may be a few days farther apart for the next update or two. (Please don't shoot me.) According to my interpretation of canon (based on the lexicon) Charlie is currently twenty three in 1996 (the summer after Half Blood Prince takes place, obviously). He was born Dec. 12, 1972, began Hogwarts in the summer of 1984, and graduated in the summer of 1990.

The Diggorys and the Fawcetts both live in Ottery St. Catchpole. Cedric was of about the same age as Percy, and Hector is a character of my own invention.

A Lodestone, the base word behind the _Lodstonus Notra_ charm (which I made up), is a magnetic substance.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_**Fenix-** I thought that the 5 for highest thing sounded about right. Congrats again, and thanks for the promise of wonkiness warning. I really appreciate it. I hope this chapter satisfies your Charlie/Myra history craving. No riots here, lest I send Quex to bite your revolutionary arse. (You'll meet Quex pretty soon here, and trust me, you don't want him anywhere NEAR your bum.)  
_

_**Possum (Squishy)-** You still haven't told me if I can call you squish yet. You make the author sad. (sniffle, sniffle, tear) I'm so happy that you like my sense of humor. I hope this chapter makes you laugh too. And here's a little plot spoiler for you: Arthur may get to play with more muggle stuff very soon, much to the amusement of both audience and authoress. I did take a look at Crookshanks's work, and I am eternally grateful for the recommendation. Excellent reading. She's on my favorites now, even though I'm not done reading her Charlie piece yet._


	4. Hard Headed Creatures

**How High the Moon  
**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Three: Hard-Headed Creatures**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Weasley?" inquired a sleepy looking Stella from underneath one of the warm blankets that Charlie's dad had conjured up earlier in the evening.

Charlie should have known then and there that the conversation had taken a turn for the worse, but he had been a bit distracted for the past two hours by how nice his friend looked now that she had taken off that ugly robe.

"I suppose we ought to get back to the burrow." His mother said with obvious reluctance.

Fleur, who had been arguing against leaving Bill's side for most of the night, folded her arms and glared at everyone she could. "I will not leave 'im alone here. What if 'e wakes up, and we don't know eet?"

"Stella said he won't be awake for days." Charlie interjected tiredly, trying to hold off the inevitable row for as long as he could.

Stella merely sighed, the professional edge to her voice returning. "Visitors are not allowed to stay in the wards, Miss Delacour. I don't like to repeat myself."

This, if anything, only inflamed Fleur's obstinate streak.

"I will not leave 'im! Your 'ouse, eet is too far from 'ere."

"That one could out-stubborn an Iron Belly." Charlie thought to himself. He desperately wished that his father was awake, if only to have the company of another man for the duration of what had all the makings of another irrational argument amongst the women in the room.

Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley had fallen asleep not long after conjuring the blankets, and was now snoring loudly in a dark corner of the room (much to the disapproval of all of the portraits, who were shooting him dirty looks by turns and trying to sleep themselves).

"Well dear, I wish that we could stay too," said Mrs. Weasley, shooting an irritated glance at Stella, "But I don't know anyone in town that I would care to call on at two in the morning to ask about a place to sleep."

"We could stay at zee Leaky Cauldron." Fleur replied offhandedly, not realizing at first that the expense of a few nights in an inn were not within his parent's modest means.

By the time she figured out why his mum was giving her the patented glare of doom, there was no taking back what she had said and the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a severing charm.

Charlie should have known from the beginning that this would lead to no good.

He should have taken his father's unconscious state as some sort of ill omen. But while he settled down and prepared to ignore the battle to come, Charlie merely began to wonder if all women had no higher goal in life than to confuse, upset, and generally irritate men. It really did seem like it at times.

Lost in thought, he was unaware of the lurking danger as Stella quietly contemplated the situation for a few moments. Had he been paying attention, he might have recognized the silence for what it really was: The calm before the storm.

At the sound of her unexpected voice, his head jerked up in time to hear the fatal invitation.

"Well, I suppose you lot could stay with me for a few days."

Yes, he should have known from the beginning that something was about to go very wrong.

Both his sister-in-law and his mum immediately began to thank her and politely decline while hiding their true feelings, but Fleur's excitement was as obvious as his mother's hostility.

"What a kind offur! Eet would be perfect, but I could not…"

"We wouldn't dream of imposing on you, Healer Estrella. Apperating from the burrow is not taxing enough to impinge on your hospitality."

Maybe it was the mention of apparation that triggered Stella's bullish nature, but whatever it was, she was soon quite insistent on the matter.

"Come now, you two. I won't have you running back and forth like mindless little flutterbies every morning and night. I insist. And any how, I've been needing some guests at the place to play guinea pig for me. I've been fixing up some extra rooms on the flat I'm renovating, so that families of long term patients have a place to stay."

Charlie's heart began to plummet down to somewhere past his toes.

"I don't often have guests who can tell me what they think of it so far. It runs on muggle technology, since I don't have the foggiest clue about how to convert the thing to magic, but it's really quite…"

Fleur, mum, _and_ Stella? In an _apartment_? A _muggle_ apartment? For Merlin only knew how long?

"Besides, Bimby would be so happy to have visitors. I'm afraid she gets a bit lonely, the poor thing, with only me and Quex and the birds for company."

Fleur looked delighted, radiating waves of victory next to a satisfied Stella. His mum glowered at the both of them and futilely tried to reject the offer, while Mr. Weasley snored on, blissfully unaware of the terror to come.

Charlie would have willingly walked into a cell in Azkaban before setting foot in that house.

Not that he really had much choice.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**.ψ.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Stella's flat was only a ten minute walk from St. Mungo's, but every step felt like a mile to Charlie.

His mother was not helping the situation one iota, hurling directing dirty looks at the rapidly worsening conditions of their surroundings. A glare for an overflowing trash bin here, a sniff for a greasy bum there … if looks could kill, the entire neighborhood would have been crumbling to dust at their feet.

Stella and Fleur quietly discussed the details of Bill's care after he was released, and Charlie absently thought that he would have to tell his brother about their plans once the man was conscious again. He suspected that Bill would rope him into more than one escape attempt in the coming days, as it seemed that the women had no intention of letting him out of that hospital bed till he was old and grey.

Dad just spent the entire trip goggling at the muggle surroundings, looking very much like a Japanese tourist couple that had once visited Wallachia Mountains, save for the fact that he didn't have a camera strung round his neck. Then again, Arthur Weasley would probably venture into Hell itself if given the chance to wonder at muggle inventions. Neither his wife's silent death threats, nor the noisy alley brawls they passed caused Charlie's dad to bat an eye.

Charlie had to admit that there were several aspects of the graffiti caked back streets that he could have done without himself, namely the prostitute that had trailed them for a few blocks back there trying to proposition him. Charlie had a sneaking suspicion that the lady was not as lady-like as she would have had him believe.

Stella simply ignored everyone's opinions, occasionally chatting more with Fleur as they neared her apartment.

It was hard to tell what Stella thought of their reactions to her neighborhood.

"Either she's gotten pretty good at ignoring mum," thought Charlie, "or she really doesn't notice. Who can tell with women?"

Why had he ever thought that she was not confusing? What had he been thinking? There was no such thing as an uncomplicated woman!

By the time they finally reached the flat, which turned out to be an entire small apartment building, everyone was glad to hurry inside despite its decrepit exterior. As they climbed the crumbling brick steps up to the front door, all Charlie could think about was the hot food and warm guest beds Stella had described and getting inside, away from the cold and the fog.

Charlie was the last one in. He closed the door just in time to hear Stella light the lamps with a tired command of _liatamen_, and the hall was immediately full of a deafening roar of chirping, twittering, and squeaking.

He was a bit surprised to see Stella jumped on, perched on, and otherwise generally greeted by a motley assortment of odd looking animals and a tiny, frail looking house elf. Charlie vaguely recalled her having said something about her pets one night back in Romania, but hadn't thought about it since. In fact, he hadn't really given any thought to how Stella lived, or with whom, or ever bothered to ask after the first few days.

It was another one of those subjects that every Wallachia resident had quickly learned to let lie when it came to Stella. When pressed about her family or past, she had either avoided the question with a fuzzy answer and changed the topic, or gotten outright hostile towards the inquirer. Even the slowest man at Wallachia Mountain Breeding and Research Facilities had caught on eventually. Charlie was proud to say that he was not the slowest, and that his curiosity about the matter had been pretty short lived because he disliked prying into other people's business, but now felt kind of guilty about not having pressed her about her personal life.

To Charlie, Stella had always just been the kind friend with a stale sense of humor, the one who was good with fire charms, the playful prankster. She was the girl with the happy smile. Stella had never been anything more than one dimensional in his eyes, and he had never done anything to change that.

But as Charlie watched her introduce her pets to his family and tell the house elf to show them to their rooms, he recalled the events of that afternoon in the alley. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he realized that he hadn't considered that she might be more than just a pretty face and a grin. He had never really stopped to think that she was a real person, someone with pets and a home and emotions that could affect him.

Suddenly, Charlie was jolted out of his deep concentration as something slammed into his forehead.

"Quex!" Charlie heard Stella screech as little silver stars blinked in his vision. "What was that for, you sodding idiot? He's a guest, not an intruder! Come back here this instant, or I'll wring your scaly little neck!"

Charlie heard an angry hiss, followed by Stella stomping out of the room. It took him a few minutes to regain his sight, and by the time he had, he found his family and the little herd of animals gone and Stella no where to be found.

"What was that all about?" He asked grumpily. He had been looking forward to food and sleep, not to getting pummeled.

He didn't get a chance to make any guesses, because just then Stella burst back through the door with one of the strangest creatures he had ever observed trying to wriggle its way out of her death grip.

It was a beast that Charlie had only seen once before, and then only in a nearly prehistoric textbook his seventh year. He felt his jaw drop in shock.

The entry from Frances Fangtooth's _'A History of Rare and Mysterious Beasts'_ replayed over and over again in his head:

_Buto- An ancient and extraordinarily venomous winged serpent, whose origins are lost in the sands of time. It is thought to be a distant relative of the Occamy. Highly elusive and extraordinarily cunning, several Buto were well known for having been able to speak in human tongues. Buto are said to have reached a length of only three to four feet, and are deeply associated with the dark arts and what was referred to in antiquity as 'black magic'. Some myths cite its appearance as early as the old kingdom of Egypt as an elusive companion of several court magicians, including Melampus Cammer, one of the first recorded dark lords. Many of their body parts were used to great effect in potions pertaining to the… _

"Apologize, you little ingrate!" She barked at the squirming snake as it vainly tried to free itself by flapping its wings.

"Is that a…?"

"Buto? Yep. Pissy little bugger, innt he?" She grunted, obviously having trouble controlling the thing. "I'm serious Quex, that was a rude…"

Stella never got the chance to finish. She was interrupted by another vicious round of hissing from the little black snake before it managed to poke her in the eye with one of its long, silvery pinions. Once she was distracted, the Buto quickly escaped through an open doorway.

"Bastard!" She called after it, looking about ready to bite something.

"Sorry, Charlie. He's not fond of new people. I probably should have warned you, huh?" She said with a tired little grin as she helped him to his feet.

"Probably." Muttered Charlie, not nearly as amused by the situation as she was. "Does he do that to everybody?"

There was a potent gleam of sarcasm in her eyes as she led him down another dark hall of the creaking apartment.

"No. He must really like you." She snorted.

Charlie didn't think it was very funny, but was too tired to think of something witty to say. Instead, he tried hard to stifle the yawn that was threatening to escape.

It seemed like ages before she took him up a flight of doubtful looking stairs and down yet another hall to the promised and long awaited bed. The room was chilly, and smelled faintly of fresh paint and sawdust, but the bed was the only thing he could see.

"Will this do?" Stella asked with an air of pride.

"It's wonderful."

"You're only saying that because you're too tired to see straight, you great lummox."

"Mff." He grunted as he flopped onto the mattress and pulled up the covers, not even bothering to change.

Stella just snorted and turned out the light.

"Sleep well, _gatito_." She said, quietly closing the door.

He yawned and smiled. "Night, Stella."

"Don't call me that!" Came a yell from down the hall.

He curled up under the covers and lay there exhastedly. But as drowsy as he felt, Charlie could not seem to fall asleep.

Dim echoes of his parent's conversations could be heard in the hall, and Fleur's stifled weeping floated painfully on the air in the next room. Thoughts raced through his mind at break neck speed. Worry for Bill clouded his mind for nearly an hour according to the little muggle clock, whose bright red numbers glared accusingly at him from the bedside table.

Despite all of Stella's assurances, a seed of doubt and fear had taken root in his mind. What if something went wrong? What if her cure didn't work? What if Bill … What if he …

Charlie couldn't imagine a world without Bill. His older brother had always been there for him (if in his own irresponsible, party-happy big brother way) guiding him and cheering him on. Bill had taught him to ride his first broom, had coached him on how to talk to girls, smuggled him his first butterbeer.

How could life exist if Bill wasn't in it?

Charlie tried desperately to think of something else, but the only other subject his traitorous brain could come up with was the one that he wanted most to avoid just then.

Her face flooded his head; her voice lingered in his mind's eye. Again and again, Charlie cursed himself for feeling attracted to her. She would never understand, and would probably be hurt and upset if she ever found out. And if he knew anything at all about women (he still wasn't quite sure if he did or not) getting one hurt and upset was probably as smart as asking that poisonous Buto to take up residence in his pants.

Knowing Stella, explaining how he felt might very well cost him a limb or two.

He punched the pillows in irritation and threw one at the little demonic clock, knocking its knowing red smirk out of sight.

Why was it that he, Charlie Weasley, could not find any sort of lasting happiness beyond his dragons, his books, and his broom? Why did he always end up the odd man out? It wasn't like he didn't have anything to offer. He had made good marks in school. He was a nice guy, with a job he loved. Heck, he was a Quidditch captain!

"No," said a little nagging voice, "You _used_ to be a Quidditch captain. Who cares if you had good marks? So what if you're a nice guy? What girl wants to date a _nice guy_, anyway?"

The voice had a point.

He really wasn't anything special. He wasn't good looking like Bill, or brainy like Percy. He wasn't funny like the twins, outgoing like Ron, or determined like Ginny. He was just nice, boring Charlie Weasley.

Laying there staring at the dark ceiling, Charlie could hardly keep from crying. Frustration and loneliness ricocheted inside him, leaving him sleepless and discouraged. And still, thoughts of Stella haunted him. He remembered when they first met, and all of the times they had had in those short six months. If only he had had more time with her! Maybe something could have happened. Maybe he would not be in this cold, quiet bed all alone. Maybe … if only …

Suddenly, Charlie sat bolt upright grabbing the sheets in his tense fists. Uneasiness cut into his stomach like a knife as he realized that he had missed something important about Stella, something he should have known from the beginning.

Why had he never asked before?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Don't you just love cliff hangers?

Quex and Butos are my own creations. The notes on the research behind them are as follows:

Both Frances and his book are my own creations. The Occamy is a creation of J.K.R. A description of it can be found on the lexicon website, as well as many other Harry Potter sites. There are quite a few myths around the world involving winged snakes that I used as the basis for Quex and his species:

Most obviously, there is the Christian belief that before the advent of original sin the devil (Lucifer) took the form of a winged snake and convinced Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, but was then condemned by God (Genesis, chapter 3) to crawl on his belly and eat dust all his days.

In South America, the Aztecs believed in a god called Quetzalcoatl, who was described as a feathered snake and was one of their chief deities. Human sacrifices were made to him in order to appease him and hold off the coming end of the age. He was a symbol of the totality of heaven and earth. It is also believed that Quetzalcoatl is the source of all divine powers and thus all evil and good things in the world are because of him. This is where I got Quex's name from.

The name Buto comes from ancient Egyptian religion, and wow, are there a lot of myths about snakes and winged serpents! The ancient Egyptians were really fond of snakes because they got rid of rats, so there were several goddesses that often appeared in the form of a hooded cobra connected to the fertility of the fields, granaries, and vineyards. Oddly enough these goddesses were also associated with nursing and breast-feeding. (Voldy-poo, anybody?) In one religious text, a high priest named Ank-af-na-khonsu calls on a "winged snake of light, Hadit" during a very sacred fire ritual called (and I kid you not here) the Mass of the Phoenix. (Creepy, huh?)

The other really important snake in their religion was the cobra (Naja haje) that was worn in the front of the king's headdress along with a vulture. The two animals represented two very important and very powerful sister goddesses that guarded the pharaoh (Egyptians saw him as God on earth). The vulture goddess was called Nekhebet (more to come on her in later chapters). Her sister (the cobra) was called Wadjet or Buto, and she was a goddess of justice, the hunt, battle, hell, and protecting the righteous. She was often shown rising up to smite down the pharaoh's opponents with fire or spitting venom.

In regards to the wizard I mentioned named _Melampus Cammer_: In Cambodia, there is a family called _Cammer _has great regard and faith in a Nag (serpent) god, whom they claim they are descended from. According to them, the Nag father gave the island of Cambodia to his son at his wedding. In mythology, _Melampus_ was a man who cared for animals so much that the snakes licked his ears and gave him the priceless gift of being able to speak in the tongues of animals.

On a reviewer's recommendation, I took a look at the work of an extraordinarily talented writer named **Crookshanks22**. After being enthralled by her excellent Charlie centered fic, _A Romance, with Dragons_ (Which has some astonishingly ironic coincidences with my own. And I mean freakishly coincidental coincidences!), I then was utterly compelled to read its sister story: _Autumn into Spring_. Both are above and beyond my highest praises, and I would eagerly recommend them to anyone who asks. Both stories can be found in my favorites.

Well, what are you waiting for? Go read them!

NOW!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_**Fenix and HarryPotterMagic, an important note! **Because I combined two of my chapters after you guys had reviewed the first posting of chapter four, you won't be able to comment on this chapter four unless you sign off and review anonymously. If you would be so incredibly kind as to do that, I would be forever grateful. I appreciate hearing what you guys have to think of my chapters more than words can say, and every review really puts a ray of happiness in my day. I do understand if it is too much trouble to do that though, I know it is a big bother just to leave a review. Either way, thanks for your input so far._


	5. Before the Break of Day

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Five: Before the Break of Day**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Think I smell the sunset  
Think I smell the break of day  
People laughing at a funeral  
People dancing at a wake  
All the seasons blend together  
This bird's losing feathers everyday_

_-'Never Dim', The Waiting _

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie drifted off into an uneasy sleep full of nightmares and questions he could not answer, only to be rudely awakened from it with a very painful series of jabs in the ribs.

"Leave off, Mum." He grunted incoherently. "I'll be up in five minutes, I swear."

He turned over, prepared to doze off again, but the poking continued unfairly.

He fought to keep his eyes closed.

"Please?" Charlie nearly whined, never having been a morning person. "Leme be. I'll be down in a fix."

The jabber did not respond to his appeals.

With greatest reluctance, he gave in and slowly raised one bleary eye-lid in defeat, only to find that he was not alone in the bed. His vision was immediately filled with a large, liquid brown eye and a beaky nose.

Neither of them belonged to his mum.

Charlie flew several feet in the air.

"Merlin!" He yelped upon landing, quickly scrambling off the bed to face his assailant.

The wizened little house elf gave him a quizzical look as it straightened the spotless green cushion cover that it wore.

"I is not Merlin, Sir. I is Bimby." It squeaked calmly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The only house elf Charlie had ever had much contact with was a little male that belonged to Stanislav (a friend and co-worker at Wallachia), but he would have wagered a couple galleons that this one was female. Unlike any that he had seen before, it had quite a bit of hair, all pulled back into a neat little bun behind its enormous ears and as white as the snow that covered Kostya's Peak back in Romania. That, and its squeaky voice was much more shrill than Gitchy's.

The house elf went on without pausing, looking guilty and a bit frightened of him.

"Bimby is sorry to be poking Sir, but Miss Myra told Bimby not to let Sir sleep after ten o'clock."

Despite his wake up scare, Charlie was still too sleepy to think of something to say to it. He just stared at the wrinkled little elf trying to remember where he was. The elf (_Buffy, wasn't it?_)started to become rather panicked by his lack of response.

"Bimby is sorry!" The little thing looked about ready to cry, and Charlie felt quite sorry for it. "Sir would not wake up when Bimby called him, and Miss Myra said Bimby must wake Sir!"

"Um … ok." He said stupidly.

"Should Bimby punish herself, Sir?" It cringed.

"Huh?"

The elf must have taken his confused reply for a yes, because it sprang into action.

That certainly woke him up a bit. He rushed to the end of the bed to stop the poor thing from banging its head against the footboard.

"No! Don't do that!" He yelped, surprised to see the creature inflict pain on itself. Gitchy had been pretty odd, but not _this_ odd. "It's ok."

The elf looked up at him in disbelief as a humongous tear slipped out of her beach ball eyes.

"Really, don't worry about it." He groped around in robes (which he had forgotten to take off the night before) for something to wipe the little thing's face with. "I'm glad you listened to Stella. I need to go see my brother."

The thought of Bill made his stomach twist with a little knot of worry while the elf loudly trumpeted into his handkerchief.

The tiny female _(Bucky, maybe?) _looked up at him with adoring eyes when he told her that she could keep it.

"Sir is so kind to Bimby! Miss Myra will be so pleased that her friend is a kind Sir!"

Charlie couldn't think of anything to say to that. He hadn't meant to give her a priceless gift or anything; he just hadn't wanted to put it back in his pocket after the little thing was done with it. But he was kind of warming up to the cute little creature anyway, so why not?

And besides … it couldn't hurt if the elf told Stella what a nice guy he was.

Still a little groggy, Charlie let it take his hand and lead him through the confusing house to a large, dusty kitchen where it set about making him breakfast.

Only one wall had any semblance of being finished, a long stretch of black countertop filled with muggle appliances. Some of the other walls were still just wooden skeletons, and he could see through them into other unfinished rooms filled with tools and lumber. Light poured in through a large group of windows next to a table and chairs at the far end of the space. Almost everything was coated in a healthy blanket of dust. Apparently, Stella wasn't done 'remodeling' the room.

But Charlie's mind was far away from the sneeze-inducing kitchen. Thoughts of Bill had done nothing for his already grumbling innards (although Bimby's superb pancakes fixed that problem with magical speed) and unsettling questions about Stella plagued him like biting marsh flies in a warm Carpathian spring.

As soon as Bimby (who had developed a dangerously motherly attitude towards him since the pocket rag incident) declared that he had eaten enough, Charlie hurried to St. Mungo's hoping to put his fears and suspicions to rest.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**.ψ.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next few days were tedious and irritating.

Charlie could not, for the life of him, seem to catch Stella alone. She never seemed to stay in the flat for more than a quick bite to eat, coming back late from shifts and leaving early to see to critical patients. During the day she checked on Bill for a few minutes every couple of hours, chatting with Fleur and trying to butter up his mum when she could (though the later seemed to be a pretty hopeless cause), but was always gone again before he could talk to her in private. He couldn't exactly follow her on her rounds, but he couldn't ask her about his secret fears in front of his family either.

A very cynical voice in his head gave him no peace about the question that was eating him alive.

Late that sleepless night while remembering all of the good times that he had shared with Stella, Charlie had begun to wonder what their lives might have been like if he had known her back at Hogwarts. Would acquaintance have grown into affection? Could there have been something more between them if they had been friends longer?

But as he lay there imagining frustrating futures that would never come to be, he had realized one very important thing that Stella had never told him. If she hadn't gone to Hogwarts, then where had she gone to school?

At first, it seemed like a very harmless question, but it quickly grew into something more when Charlie realized that there was only one place she _could_ have attended.

He knew from one particularly hilarious incident at Wallachia (involving a rubber hose, a rouge niffler, and several bottles of butterbeer) that Stella couldn't speak French if her life depended on it. It had been an inconsequential bit of information at the time, but one that had dire repercussions as he considered it now. If she couldn't speak French, then Stella could not have gone to Beauxbatons either, and that left only one other option.

Durmstrang.

Durmstrang, the school with a spotty past. Durmstrang, the school once headed by a death eater. Durmstrang, the school where the dark arts were taught and practiced.

Charlie felt icy suspicion gnawing at his heart. He had to know. Had Stella gone to Durmstrang?

His reasonable side argued that there had to be some logical explanation. Maybe she had really gone to Hogwarts, and Charlie had never noticed her! It was definitely possible, he agreed. He had never really noticed Tonks, a good friend from the Order who had been in his very own year at school, while they were in Hogwarts together. Maybe he had just never noticed Stella!

But that sly, harassing voice whispered in an all too knowing fashion that he would have at least seen her once or twice. After all, you can't exactly live in the same tower, use the same commons, and take the same classes every day for seven years without at least bumping into each other once or twice. Can you?

Common sense told him that Stella, grouchy, good-natured, fun-loving Stella, could not practice the dark arts any more than he, Charlie Weasley, could dance the samba.

Common sense said that he was making something out of nothing.

Sometimes, common sense seemed about as helpful as one of Fred and George's fake wands.

There were times over those next few days when it felt like it was all Charlie could do not to grab her, drag her into a broom cupboard, and ask her plainly if she was a death eater. (This line of thought unfortunately lead to other activities that could take place in a broom closet, namely snogging, doing little to decrease his frustrations on any level.)

Charlie was about ready to bite something.

In the mean time, Bill did not wake up. He did seem to be healing, from Charlie's limited perspective of things, and the constant nagging worry that something might happen to his big brother was slowly fading, much to Charlie's relief. Yet after the first few hours of sitting in the little wood-paneled ward with nothing but Fleur, Mum, and a copy of the Prophet to keep him company, Charlie was getting restless.

A guy could only listen to endless twittering and wedding plans for so long!

After a week went by without any chance to talk to ask Bill's advice or confront Stella about his suspicions, Charlie could hardly take any more. So when Mr. Weasley handed him a letter for Stella, explaining that a friend at the office had asked him to pass it on, Charlie leapt at his chance. His dad had been so busy at the Ministry lately with his new position that he was never around when Stella was, so Charlie knew that it was a perfect excuse to talk to her.

He also knew that he would have to be tricky if he wanted to talk to her alone. It was almost as if she knew that he wanted to ask her something important, and had been avoiding him on purpose. She was good, he had to admit, but not nearly as good as he was.

So Charlie planned and plotted, and cooked up a scheme to make sure they would have some privacy. It took all of his Gryffindor courage to creep down those unsteady stairs at three in the morning to wait for Stella to wake up and come into the kitchen.

He didn't have long to wait. At three thirty, a bedraggled looking Stella slunk into the kitchen. She was really something. Even that ungodly hour, Charlie could hardly keep from staring.

The small, bleary-eyed witch wore a blue terrycloth robe that had seen better days and large fuzzy slippers that made her feet look as big as a Yeti's. As she stumbled over to the countertop, yawning and oblivious to his presence, Charlie happily took in his first glimpse of Stella with her hair down. Disheveled, uncombed, and strongly resembling a rat nest, it was a beautiful sight, he decided.

She fiddled with one of the strange muggle appliances for a moment, and soon the smell of coffee pervaded the cold, unfinished room. He knew that he should probably just cut to the chase and do what he came to do, but he couldn't help himself. He had hardly seen her at all lately, and it didn't hurt that Stella had forgotten to secure her bathrobe as tightly as she should have. The view was certainly not an unwelcome one.

Just as Charlie was beginning to enjoy watching her, however, Stella turned around and realized that there was someone else in the room.

She jumped backwards with a little cry of surprise and dropped her coffee mug, shattering it on the sub flooring.

"Whozawhah? Charlie?" She squinted. "Is that you?"

"Yeah." He stifled a yawn.

"Just what do you think you are doing in my kitchen?" Shrieked his beady-eyed friend, obviously a tad more grouchy than usual.

"Calm down, you nutter! Can't a guy get up and share breakfast with his friend?"

Stella just glared at him for a minute before huffily turning her back and fumbling around for two more mugs.

"I suppose." She muttered suspiciously as she sat down and passed him a steaming cup of coffee.

They sipped their drinks for a few minutes in without speaking as Stella slowly woke up. The silence was only interrupted by Bimby's entrance with a mop and pail, at which point Stella removed her glasses from the pocket of her robe and objected to the elf's presence.

"Bimby, what do you think you're doing?" There was a tinge of exasperation to her voice.

"Bimby is cleaning, Miss Myra." The little thing said stoutly, as though trying to defend her actions.

Charlie was completely lost. Wasn't that what house elves were supposed to do?

"I meant what I said last week. You are getting too old for this sort of stuff, you crazy elf." She got up and began to pick up the fragments of the shattered mug herself, physically barring Bimby from interfering.

"Bimby is not too old! Bimby lives to serve her masters. Bimby is a good elf!" The frantic looking little creature proceeded to burst into tears.

Stella set down the ceramic shards with a sigh of tired frustration and scooted over to where her house elf sat crying.

"Of course you are a good elf, Nana. There's not a better house elf in the whole world." She scooped the tiny thing up into her lap and patted its head.

"Then why –hic- does Miss tell Bimby not to? Does Miss not want Bimby?" She sobbed. "Bimby is a good –hic- elf. Bimby is not too old to serve Miss Myra!"

"I told you before, Bimby." Stella spoke with more patience than Charlie had ever seen her display with anyone. "Just because you are getting too old to clean and carry things doesn't mean I don't want you anymore. I will always keep you, Nana, even when you can't lift a finger. I would never send you away."

"Truly, Miss?" Bimby gulped down another soft cry, her abnormally huge eyes shining with elation.

Charlie decided that it was best not to ask. If he had thought human women were confusing, then female house elves were right up there with Arithmancy.

"Of course, you silly thing. Besides, if you left, who would cook?" Stella smiled fondly.

"No, Miss mustn't cook!" Said the elf with a soggy, lopsided grin. Most traces of her tears were already gone, and she gave a strange little giggle. "Miss would set fire to her house."

"Yes, Miss probably would." Stella agreed with a little ironic grin as she stood up and finished disposing of the broken cup. "Bimby, why don't you make something for Charlie to eat? That would be very helpful."

The elf immediately jumped at the opportunity to be useful, and began to set out what had the promise of being a five star breakfast. Charlie's stomach rumbled happily at the prospect as Stella rejoined him. So intent was he on the brilliant aromas drifting off of Bimby's cooking that at first he didn't register that Stella was talking to him.

"Charlie? Charlie! Charlie, are you listening to me?"

"Not really." He yawned.

"Ass."

"Probably." He replied flippantly, knowing it would piss her off to no end.

"You are impossible."

"And proud of it."

"Mpf." She grunted, obviously still a little too tired to be her brilliant, cocky self. "Well, before you rudely interrupted me, I was asking you why you are down here."

As soon as he remembered his mission, Charlie froze. He needed to know … but what if she really was from Durmstrang? Could there still be anything between them? Could he still look at her the same way?

"Oh come on, Charlie. There's no way in all of Merlin's magic that you are down here just for shits and giggles."

Crap, she was onto him!

"Whad'you mean?"

Stella shot him a look of pure unadulterated cynicism.

"It's a rule of the natural order of things. There are no snowballs in hell, there are no wings on pigs, and there most certainly are no people named Charlie Weasley in my kitchen at three AM. Not without a damn good reason at least." She quipped dryly, rolling her eyes. "So are you gonna tell me why or not?"

He couldn't do it.

He, brave Gryffindor Charlie Weasley, was too terrified to complete his mission. So he chickened out.

"My dad asked me to give you this." He pulled the letter out of the pocket of his robe. "Its hard to track you down these days, so I figured now was as good a time as any."

Stella gave him a short, unconvinced stare before warily breaking the seal of the letter to find two pieces of parchment.

"Besides, I haven't seen much of you lately. I … I've missed you." He stuttered out honestly before he could think.

"Why did I say that out loud?" He thought franticly, wishing he could bang his head against something. "Brilliant, Charlie! Just sodding brilliant."

Stella didn't seem to notice his inner turmoil.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, _Gatito_." She grinned before going back to her letter.

The smile slipped off Stella's face as she grew more and more engrossed in what it said. Her eyes grew wide as she quickly scanned the page, and a sad little frown started to grow at the corners of her mouth.

"Stop looking at her mouth, you idiot!" He told himself as familiar images of broom closets began to dance in the back of his head. "Easier said than done."

"What is it Stella?"

"Don't call me that." She mumbled by rote, not paying attention to him.

"Come on Stella, talk to me. What's it about?"

"Hmm?" She looked up as though seeing him for the first time that morning. "Oh, this? My letter of dismissal."

"Your WHAT?"

"My letter of dismissal. Deaf today, are you?"

"Stella…"

"Urg. Charlie Weasley! Don't ever call me that again if you value your furry little life!"

"Right. Sorry… Um, but about that letter … What'd you mean, they're dismissing you? Who's dismissing you?"

"Oh, yeah. It's Mungo's, Charlie. Just a letter saying that my temp position is up at the end of next week."

Charlie was stunned. Stella seemed to be an excellent healer. Why was she being turned out? … And who would take care of Bill?

As though she could read his mind, Stella quickly put at least one fear to rest.

"Oh, Charlie. Are you worried about Bill? Don't be, _gatito_. I still have jurisdiction over any of my previous patients. It's not like I didn't know this was coming, after all. I was never hired as a full time healer after I graduated the training program. They just kept me on for a while because of my work with werewolves and creature injuries. The administration at the hospital doesn't care for me much anyways." She feigned a little laugh. "Something about my treatment policies being too radical."

Even though she was trying to make light of it, Charlie knew that Stella was hurt. She was still a terrible liar.

"I'm sorry Stella. I know this meant a lot to you." He put his hand over hers from across the table. It was hard not to let his thoughts wander while touching her, but he couldn't let other things cloud his judgment right now. Stella needed him, and he was not going to mess this up.

"What are you talking about? This is nothing, you silly ass." She tried to brush off his words, but held his hand tighter for a moment before letting go.

Knowing that there was nothing else to say, Charlie tried to take her mind off the subject. "What's in that other letter, Stella?"

"Hmm? I dunno." She tentatively unrolled the parchment and read through it, but this time a tiny smile returned to her pretty face.

"It's Auntie A. She wants me over for lunch today, since it's the weekend. Says something about a little mission for the Order, too." The tiny smile expanded into a warm, glowing beam that Charlie couldn't help but mirror. He knew how it felt to be useless, and the joy that came with finding new purpose again.

"Says you lot are invited to come along, but she doesn't say why. Probably more Order stuff." Stella was nearly bouncing on her toes, and didn't notice Bimby covertly moping up the coffee spill behind her back. "Well, I've got to look in on a few people this morning, but I guess I'm going. How about you?"

"Sure. Always up for a little excitement." He said, exchanging sly, humorous glances with the self-satisfied house elf as she finished her mission.

"Really?" Stella tapped her chin thoughtfully as a certain gleam sprang into her eyes. "A little excitement, huh?"

It was only then that Charlie realized his big mistake.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Stanislav is a Romanian name that means 'Glory of the camp'. Kostya is Slavic, meaning 'faithful'. You will quickly learn that I am an obsessive nut when it comes to name meanings in my writing. I often use them as really blatant bits of foreshadowing (Stanislav is an exception, but there are other names that will be).

The line about snow in hell and flying pigs is based loosely off something I read by some author or another that I vaguely remember having read somewhere on FF, and who I vaguely remember as being a real riot. If you know who that author is, please let me know. I would love to ask their official permission to use it.

Last chapter's research notes have been posted. I would advise you to take a look at them, because if you look carefuly you may be able to find a few hints on upcoming chapters.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum- ** Review Nazis? Que? No comprendo. But congrats on escaping them, whoever they are! Thank you for the compliment, as well as the excelent recomendation. Your reviews make Quex and me very happy. (Quex hisses) Ok, so they make me very happy. Don't mind Quex. He doesn't even like Charlie, so his opinions are moot here.

**HarryPotterMagic- **Ok, the weird review problem should be over. Feel free to review away! Thank you for the sweet review. I was happy to hear that you enjoy my style. I tend to get mixed reactions to it from different readers. I am quite fond of little Charlie, so it makes me warm and fuzzy inside to know that he is loved. Yes, Charlie and Stella -DON'T CALL ME THAT!- are in for the ride of their lives (along with a few other charecters, I might add.)

**Fenix- ** Thank goodness (wipes persperation from concerned brow) I was so worried about those riots, being low on tear gas lately and all.

**Anon.- ** If you are going to say something negative, please be constructive. I would really apreciate it next time.


	6. Harry Potter and the Porch Swing

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Six: Potter and the Porch Swing  
**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Downy Hills was a small, pleasant estate in Kent, not far from the outskirts of London. True to its name, the place was surrounded by soft green hills and tucked away from the rest of the world. There was a modest, respectable farm house and a few odd out buildings set on a few acres of slightly neglected sweeping lawns, but no one really paid much mind to that these days.

A thin, pensive young man was slumped on a bench swing under the eves of the large, wrap-around porch. His black hair was untidy and his eyes were vacant and unfocused, as is often the case when one is thinking hard. He looked out on a dusty, warm summer day, an unusual phenomenon as of late due to the spread of rogue dementors and the wet weather that followed them. His clothes were fairly well made, something you might see any day on the sidewalk, and for the first time in years they fit him well. (His girlfriend and her mother had dragged him along to go shopping the week before.)

Not that he really gave a hippogryph's hindquarters what he looked like anymore.

Harry Potter had a few more important things on his mind.

The summer was not going at all the way he had planned. Right now, he should have been out searching for the horcruxes, or battling death eaters, or fighting Voldermort. Instead, he was stuck on a dumb porch swing at Mr. and Mrs. Tonks' house, waiting for the _illustrious_ Order of the Phoenix to end the afternoon meeting and let him in for tea.

Even after everything, even after DUMBLEDORE, the damn Order refused to let him or Ron or Hermione into any of the important meetings. Even Tonks refused to leak a word about what was going on.

What did they expect him to do? Did they think that he was just going to hand over the stuff he had learned by risking life and limb and not get dead hacked off when they patted his head and treated him like a child? Did Remus really think for one minute that he would be content to twiddle his thumb up his arse until 'the Order' decided he was bright enough to run parchment errands without loosing a limb?

Hadn't Sirius's death taught those wankers anything? I mean, not that he was going to run off and get himself killed or anything brilliant like that, but still! How did they expect him to just SIT here while the world fell apart?

Bugger that for a game of soldiers!

He was sick of doing what he was told!

All these angry thoughts had been running through his head since the funeral (which he avoided thinking about at all costs), but Harry had promised his friends that he would wait until after the wedding to make his break. He wasn't going to lie to them. He would probably end up doing a lot of terrible things to end the war –He would end up a murderer for Merlin's sake! - But he had decided that Harry Potter would never be a liar.

… unless he had to lie to find the horcruxes …

… or if he needed to lie to get to Voldermort…

…. or if he had to …

Harry sighed. He would probably end up lying so much that it became second nature by the time he was done.

"But never to them." He whispered to himself.

Harry flopped onto his stomach with an irritable grunt. He wished that they would at least keep him company. It was ruddy boring out here, and he didn't have the motivation to move at the moment.

Not five minutes after the Order had put up the security measures around the meeting room, all three of his friends had left him.

He thought about tracking down Ron for a go around the Tonks's impressive Quidditch pitch, or borrowing another one of the foul smelling books that Hermione carried with her everywhere these days to research their targets. Even she hadn't been able to come up with a single clue so far, but it never hurt to try some more.

Then again, he didn't exactly want to walk in on Ron and Hermione going at it again. That had been … _disgusting_.

Not to mention bloody awkward.

I mean, what do you say when you walk in on your two best mates swapping saliva like there's no tomorrow?

Harry shuddered, but soon found happier thoughts.

"Maybe Gin'd be up for a little of that." He wondered with a smile.

Even though Harry felt a bit guilty about her safety, after two days without her he had had to admit that he wasn't a strong enough man to leave her well enough alone. Not that she was complaining any, he thought with a little grin of satisfaction. They had gotten back together less that a week after leaving Hogwarts.

She was probably in the kitchen. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley had been teaching her how to cook, and Ginny made the best Shepard's pie a guy could ask for. It was weird to think that Tonks could actually cook something edible, but it was true. All four of them had been growing a lot closer to her over the past year while she was working at Hogwarts, and she had proved full of surprises. Tonks was one of the only full fledged Order members that they trusted with their plans for after the wedding, not to mention a surprisingly devoted Quidditch fan.

Just as Harry made up his mind to go find his girlfriend, he noticed two people walking down the drive to the house.

When he recognized Ron's brother Charlie, he smiled.

Tonks had said Charlie might show up today, and that meant they would finally have enough people for two passable teams. It wasn't the same as hunting down death eaters, but at least it was something to do after dinner on meeting nights. Harry was getting bored straight out of his skull, and Quidditch was always a good answer for whatever ailed you right?

It hadn't been easy to round up fourteen players. There really weren't enough people the first couple weeks, and at one point Harry had even been desperate enough to let Professor Moody play.

Desperate or not, Harry found a new keeper after that.

As they got closer, Harry saw that Charlie had his broom with him, and a wicked grin spread across his face. If he moved a couple of his players around, he could probably get Charlie on his team. Ron would never know what hit him.

The other person turned out to be a short, dusty girl about Charlie's age in muggle jeans, a leather jacket, and a ratty t-shirt that read EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO MY OPINION. She was kind of curvy (but he'd be caught dead before he admitted it around Ginny) and not bad looking, even though she had her hair up in a wonky little hairnet or something. The thing that really caught Harry's eye was her motorcycle.

He still felt raw over Sirius and how he had died. Not a day went by that Harry didn't kick himself for never having opened the sodding mirror. The damn bike reminded him of the way his godfather had mourned over the loss of his legendary flying motorcycle. Sirius had promised to teach Harry how to ride first thing once he was a free man.

Maybe he could ask Charlie if she'd let him have a look at it?

By the time they were in hearing distance, neither one of them had noticed Harry yet. It was weird not to be the center of attention, but it was a good weird. Too many people in the Order thought that one day he would just stand up and smite down Voldermort with lightning from heaven or something nutters like that. It was nice not to have people focused on you, and it was funny to listen to the two of them argue.

"Come on Charlie! It's a perfect plan. They'll never know what hit em'!" Even though English had to be her first language, the girl had a really slight accent, so faint that he couldn't tell what nationality it was.

"What about my Mum? That woman has got eyes in the back of her head."

"Look, if she finds out you can just blame it on me like always. Besides, if they're half as bad as you said, they've got it coming." Said the girl with a kind of evil grin.

Harry was intrigued. That was the little evil grin he often used. What were they up to? Harry didn't think that Charlie wouldn't do anything nasty to someone, but then again you could never tell with some people. Quirrell … _Snape_.

"Seriously _gatito_, not a word about the bike to Auntie A. She'll string me up with my own deflated tires, she will. I'll never hear the end of it."

"Brilliant! I've always wanted to see someone do that!"

"You're an ass, Charlie Weasley, you know that?"

"You inform me often." Charlie said solemnly. "One of these days I'm going to grow four hooves and a snout from hearing it so much."

"Good."

"You wound me, Stella." He said with a sad face.

"I aim to please, _gatito_. And don't call me that!"

"Of course not, Stella."

"CHARLIE!"

"Alright, alright girl. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you doing, thinking about my knickers _gatito_?" She batted her eyes at him, then went back to looking for something in her bag.

While she had her back to him, Charlie turned red and gulped.

It was weird for Charlie to get embarrassed like that. He'd been over for a couple of poker nights with the blokes from the Order, and this was nothing compared to the dirty jokes that got running after a few rounds of butterbeer. Harry wondered if Charlie was sick or something.

"Oh, nothing … nothing at all." Charlie quavered.

The girl looked up from her bag when she heard him and shot him one of those looks that only girls can give. One of those glaring things with one eyebrow raised. You know, those I-don't-know-what-you're-up-to, but-you-better-stomp-it-off-before-I-figure-out-what-it-is looks. Harry knew that look all too well.

Someday, Hermione was going to put an eye out with one of those things.

Charlie smiled a shaky little smile and only made it worse. Harry wanted to warn him. He knew from experience that women could smell fear. Ginny was a prime example…

After a second, the girl just rolled her eyes and kept digging in her bag while the motorcycle rolled along next to her. She must have charmed it to follow her when she was distracted. She handed Charlie her leather jacket and put on a light green robe with little white birds on the sleeves as they walked around the side of the house. They still hadn't noticed him.

"There." He heard the witch say. "A clean robe and nobody's the wiser, no? Do I have any dirt on me?"

"Nah, you're good."

"_Excelente_."

"You should have just ridden with me. It's a good broom, you know. I wouldn't let you fall off or anything idiotic like that."

"Ha! I believe that one. You'd probably chuck me off over the ocean, where no onen'd ever find my bloody remains."

"Has anyone ever told you you've got a morbid sense of humor, girl?"

"It's been mentioned."

There was a pause, and then Charlie started back in.

"You still should have come with me." He almost sounded like he was pouting! Charlie Weasley? Sulking? Definitely weird, Harry thought.

"Not in a million years _gatito_. God forgot to give us wings for a reason. My feet are right happy where they are."

"Please? I could take you back…"

"I'll get on one of those things the day that a blindingly handsome chap falls out of the sky and into my lap, hands me a sack of galleons and proposes on bended knee while angels sing the hallelujah chorus."

"Poor sod."

"Don't pout, Charlie, it makes you look like a bloated squirrel." Harry could hardy stop himself from laughing.

"And besides, what would I do with my bike, smart aleck?"

"That's easy." Charlie muttered something and his friend made a happy squealing sound.

"Well bugger me backwards! I knew transfiguration was you thing, but … wow."

"I _am_ wonderful, aren't I?"

"Ass."

"And a nice looking one at that."

"I still don't see why _you _wouldn't come with _me_. It's a riot, and besides, you did say you wanted a little excitement."

"Stella, that much excitement would kill a bloke."

"Well, you gotta go somehow."

"I can think of several ways I'd rather snuff it, thanks, and none of them include your loony muggle machines. I get enough of that business from my dad."

"Just an offer."

"You know, I'd rather chain myself to one of those Blot-Ended Skrims Ron was telling me about."

"Blot-Ended whats?"

"One of Hagrid's new little friends."

Just then, the two of them walked around the corner. Charlie was looking at his friend with an odd gleam in his eye, hopeful and nervous, like he had asked a question and she hadn't answered. The girl was just startled to see Harry, and wasn't paying attention to Charlie at all.

"Hello there." She stuck out her hand. "Myra Estrella. You are…?"

"Hey Harry." Charlie looked glum and irritated. "Myra, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Myra."

Harry cringed.

Brilliant. Just bleeding wonderful! All he needed right now was another goggling witch who fainted in shock or something meeting him. He hated the way their eyes always flickered up at his scar, right before they started bombarding him with questions that he didn't want to answer. How did you do it, Harry? Are you the Chosen One, Harry? What is Voldermort like, Harry?

He was always tempted to tell them something stupid, like 'Yes, I am God incarnate, come to purge the earth of its debauchery!' or 'Oh, him? He's nothing, not half as bad as my Aunt Marge.'. He hadn't actually done it yet, but it was awfully tempting. The only good thing about being sheltered at the Tonks's and the Weasley's was that no one around here did that any more. So much for that.

"Harry Potter, huh?" She did glance up at the scar (which made him want to hit something) but only gave him a mild look over before calmly shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry. Nyms says good things about you."

He and Charlie both gave her a suspicious look. No one had met him this calmly in two or three years, except maybe Luna Lovegood, who had dottily informed him that he was in fact Harry Potter and gone back to meddling with her copy of The Quibbler. But that had only been because no normal occurrence _could_ faze Luna. This one must want something from him. Everybody wanted something from 'the great Harry Potter' eventually.

But Myra just rolled her eyes at the both of them.

"What's wrong with you two? Oh bugger, you're one of those idiot celebrities who thinks that the whole world should drop and kiss their feet aren't you? Bloody disappointing kid. Nyms said you weren't like that." She frowned at him and crossed her arms.

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

"Where is Nyms, anyhow? I'm gonna ring her neck if she didn't wait for me." Myra walked to the screen door and started to go inside.

"Who's Nyms, Stella?"

She looked at him like he was daft.

"Nyms, Charlie! Nymphadora? You know, my sister?"

"YOUR WHAT?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Research time, Yay! I did a little background digging on Kent, and man oh man, I'm even more excited to move over there than before. Green hills, breathtaking scenery. Beautiful country!

What is the reader response on inserting another viewpoint? Charlie will be back next instalment. Harry should only have one or two more goes at being our viewpoint, and the rest will still be Charlie, but I wanted a few little hints of another perspective to spice things up.

I hope that Charlie and Harry have different 'voices'. I meant for Harry to be more angry and petulant, and have less of a mind about grammar as he is younger and more imature. Do their thoughts seem like those of two separate people? Also, I wanted the softer, calmer description of the setting in the beginning to clash with the forceful emotions later on. Did that come off well?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum-** Charlie was in Slytherin? Huh? Authoress confused here. He is trying, just doing a really bad job of it. Poor Charlie, he would have had his answer there if Harry hadn't startled Stella –DON'T CALL ME THAT- Oh well, maybe next chapter… (evil laugh)

**Fenix-** You are right about the South America/Central America mix up. Thanks. I may look into that reading. Hey, one point for you for guessing correctly. It happens less often than many readers want it to (by design of course. I love to keep people guessing.) You like my Molly? You'll love her soon! … Poor Charlie indeed. Clueless little bloke, but I'll have pity him … eventually. Sorry about the mix up with the chapter titles. This one works much better with the plot as a whole … but you'll see for yourself …eventually. (is there an echo in here?)

**HPM-** All hail Lexicon! It is my bible! (not really, that's blasphemy) have fun with re-reading though. I did that about a month back, myself. Yes, we all wish Charlie had more guts … but at least I get some great suspense at his expence. Poor, poor Charlie, I really do over work him. I'm dead chuffed that you liked my stuff enough to put it on your C2. I feel so loved!


	7. The Dragon's Teeth

Please read the notes before you read the chapter. There is a British slang term in this section that will seem really strange and out of place if you don't know what it means.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Seven: The Dragon's Teeth**

**……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. **

_…When I look behind me   
You stand there sizzling in summer rains   
Your eyes are tracing maps   
Underneath my boiling veins   
And I feel that I'm on … _

_ Fire, Fire, Fire,   
Drilling underneath my skin,   
Fire, Fire, Fire,   
Little embers deep within...   
_

_-'Anatomy of Fire' _

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

The evening passed Charlie by in a daze.

He took his tea out on the front porch, in the swing Harry'd been keeping warm. It wasn't so much that he was in shock as that he was embarrassed to go inside and face his friend.

How had he not figured it out?

After all, a bloke ought to know who his friends' sisters are, shouldn't he?

So Charlie pretended to feel a bit ill, and despite the attempts of the better half of the order he staunchly held his ground outside, away from Stella and further embarrassment. Nothing could lure him into the house. Not his mother's shrill concern. Not Harry looking at him like he'd lost his marbles. Not Mad-Eye jabbing him with his wand and accusing him of being Impperio'ed.

In fact, he hardly even batted an eye when Fred and George ran out of the house at sunset with their heads on fire, screaming bloody murder.

Alright, that did shock him a little, but not as much as it would most people. You got used to some pretty buggered occurrences after so many years of living with those two. Come to think of it, they'd probably done this to themselves at one point or another just by virtue of being Fred and George, he mused as he watched the fun.

"Gerit off me!" George was flailing at the flames in his hair with one of Mrs. Tonks's good linen napkins. At least, Charlie thought it was George. Sometimes it was hard to tell, even for him.

"I'm trying to get it of meself, you wanker!" Howled Fred as he dunked his head in a nearby bird bath. Unfortunately, the added water only made the fire increase and change from orange to bright blue.

Obviously, Stella had decided to get Charlie's attention.

He didn't even have to turn around to know that she was standing in the screen door watching him.

"Told ya it was a perfect plan."

Yep, it was Stella alright. She had her arms crossed over her little chest and a smug I-told-you-so smirk from ear to ear.

"You should probably put them out before Mum figures out what's going on." He said halfheartedly.

"Yeah. Probably."

That was the end of the conversation for a few minutes as they both enjoyed watching the joint owners of the world's newest wildly successful joke shop try to extinguish the prank of two real masters. Fred badly botched a fire reduction charm, only to have his head engulfed in flames nearly as tall as he was. George's freezing spell earned him grass green sparks.

It was kind of pathetic really.

"Poor little sods. I suppose I oughta douse it, huh _gatito_?"

"You think my Mum's coming then?"

"More than likely."

She quietly said the countercharm, and his little brothers fell panting to the grass. Their hair was barely singed but they looked absolutely hilarious. He'd never let them live this one down, that was for sure.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley burst though the screen door and demanded to know what was going on, looking like an angry dragon on the charge. Charlie pulled his weight as big brother and shot the twins a menacing glare. Stella didn't need any more trouble with his mum.

It was a good thing that the time he spent away from home didn't affect his older-sibling authoritativeness.

"We're fine mum."

"Just trying out the latest upcoming product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"Oh really?" She sounded cynical.

"Right!" Fred said brightly. "Hellfire Hair Gel. 13 sickles a pop. They'll be flying off the shelves."

A little too brightly.

Once the much beloved dragon lady had stalked off in search of other nests to defend, Charlie and Stella were pounced upon.

"What was that all about?"

"What did we ever do to you?"

"Well, first you were born…" Charlie couldn't help himself.

"Oh honestly. I thought you two might like to learn a thing or two from true artists." Stella said with her trademark grin. "You of all people should be able to recognize art when you see it. I mean, you don't have anything on Charlie and me, but you are pretty decent, if I do say so myself."

"Artists? More like piss artists, I say."

"Well said Fred." Added George.

"Now boys, I'm insulted. After all, I didn't tell your mother about that rude trick you pulled with the scones. Then you go off an hurt a girl's sensitive feelings? Kids these days, I tell you Charlie."

"What now, _you're_ covering for _us_?" Fred was dead indignant. "We should have snitched on you! You're the ones who set our bloody heads on fire!"

"What's your point?" Asked Stella. She was staring at her nails, pretending to be bored. Charlie knew her better. She was up to something, he just wasn't sure what.

"My point is, you should be grateful that all we ask in return for our silence is the recipe behind whatever you just did to us." Charlie should have known. His kid brothers could steal the fur off a kneazle, and in the end they'd probably have the poor little thing willing to pay them to do it too.

"Give you the fruit of our toils? The sweat of our brows?" Yes, Stella was definitely up to something. "Charlie, do you hear this? Such impertinence in the youth today! What is the world coming to, I ask you?"

"Madness, Stella. Utter madness."

"Right you are, Charlie." She smiled at him, one of those beautiful toothy little smiles that radiates light like the sun, and for a second the rest of the world was gone. If only he could figure out how to employ those lips in other activities, preferably activities that involved a broom cupboard … "But don't call me that, you ass!"

"Never dream of it."

Satisfied, she turned back to his brothers. "You are ungrateful wretches."

"Rubbish."

"Utter rubbish"

"You're mad."

"If you rude little hooligans want to keep your skins in one piece, you should listen to my offer." She said silkily.

"What'd you mean, in one piece?"

"If Moody gets wind of what that scone did to him all during tea … well, him being such a trusting character to begin with, and all."

"All right! What are your terms, woman?"

"Eighty percent of all gross profits from the product, and any products devised using my base formulas, as well as packaging under my own label."

"EIGHTY PERCENT! You ARE mad!"

"Your own label? I thought Charlie was part of this!"

"I can't set fire to split wood, you dolts. Anything pyrotechnic is hers."

"Well, a joint label then. Charlie does come up with some pretty brilliant stuff on occasion. How about … **Dragon's Teeth: Jokes of Mythic Proportions**." She drew her hands in an arc over her head as she spoke, displaying the title on an imaginary billboard.

Charlie really didn't pay much attention to the final details of the haggling. He was more concerned about talking to her when they were alone again. How was he supposed to explain the fact that he'd never thought to ask anyone here in England if they knew her? Would she think he didn't care?

All too soon, the little gits were gone and it was just him and Stella on the porch as the sun went down. He was nervous as hell and couldn't help but wonder if some how she had known what the twins would do. As usual, Stella hadn't the faintest clue about what was going on in his head and was waiting for him to say something.

"So … Dragon's Teeth, huh?"

"I got it from a myth about … never mind, I just thought it was funny."

He would have liked to have been consulted, but she did make a point of including him in the rather lucrative little deal she milked out of his spend thrift siblings, so Charlie let it pass.

"Thanks for counting me in on the action."

"I couldn't cut my favorite partner in crime out of the picture." She graced him with another one of those happy little smiles of hers, and his head started to feel foggy.

Stella, unaware as usual, continued on without a hitch. "Besides, I figured we might as well get something done this summer. You know, besides helping The-Fat-Headed-Overly-Pompous-One defeat you-know-who. And it's not like you don't need the cash, Mr. I'm-going-to-quit-the-job-I-adore-and-haven't-got-a-snowball's-chance-in-Hell-of-getting-back, just-so-I can-help-the-Order."

"You found out about that." He stated more than questioned. Damn it. He told them not to release news of his leaving until they couldn't avoid it anymore. What had happened?

"Is a toad's ass yellow? Of course I know!" She huffed. "I wish you would have told me."

"I don't want to talk about it." His mind was racing. How did she figure stuff like this out?

"Fine."

"Fine."

There were several minutes of deadly silence while the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, right along with the dreadful feeling in his gut. If she didn't say something soon, Charlie was going to burst. At long, bloody uncomfortable last he was startled by the sound of a lingering, irritated sigh.

"You're hard to stay mad at." She grunted in his direction without glancing his way, looking very put out.

A thousand pounds fell off his shoulders. She'd forgiven him, brilliant! Now all he had to do was get her mind on something else and she'd forget all about it.

"So … did you plan that whole thing? The hair … the independent label?"

"Why Charlie, whatever do you mean?" What a terrible liar.

"Well, usually you're pretty oblivious to the way other people think. But today, I think you knew exactly what would happen minute by minute once you set them on fire.

"You know _gatito_, just because I don't bother to be observant every second of every day doesn't mean I can't be when the time calls for it." She had a fond look on her face as she gazed off into the green hills.

He didn't know quite what to say to that. It had never occurred to him that she was anything but what she seemed.

A hint of pride crept into her voice as she continued. "I can plot and scheme with the best of them when I put my mind to it. They put me in Slytherin for a reason, after all."

WHAT?

Charlie tried hard not to gape. Slytherin? Archenemy of all that was good and decent? Mean, crude, decidedly nasty Slytherin? Underhanded bastards and awful cheaters extraordinaire?

SLYTHERIN?

He felt an undeniable urge to sick up.

Even Durmstang would have been better!

This couldn't be right. There had to be a mistake. It was just some utterly stupid cosmic joke or something, right? This was silly, funny, warm smile Stella, not some double crossing dark witch! She couldn't be a Slytherin!

Stella still had her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees as she looked out across the vast expanse of crimson sky, blissfully ignorant of his loathing.

"Course, that bloody oik of a hat was a real ponce about the whole affair. Had to argue with the damn thing for nearly three hours before it gave over. Everyone gave me hell for holding up the feast, and then Dumbledore just eyed me up with that weird little twinkle in his eyes and told me that I had set a new school record. 'My dear Miss Estrella, I don't believe I have ever seen an individual hold out so long against so formidable a foe. Ten points to Slytherin for incorruptible determination.' Barmy old badger, but I guess he grew on me after a while."

Stella's impersonation of the late headmaster was uncannily accurate, but Charlie was far too lost in his own emotions to care.

At least this solved the puzzle about why he'd never seen her at Hogwarts, he thought glumly. He'd never seen her because he wouldn't have willingly set foot within a mile of those slimy gits for all the gold in Gringots. Charlie Weasley wouldn't go near one of those greasy, self important, pure blood maniacs with a ten foot broomstick.

But this was Stella.

Unfortunately, he couldn't deny what she said.

He himself remembered the night she was talking about. He had been so anxious about his own turn at the sorting hat that the three hour reprieve had seemed like a divine gift and a hellish curse all rolled into one. It had meant that he hadn't had to get sorted right away, but after three hours still stuck in the E's, he had known that it was only delaying the inevitable. Somehow in the confusion and happy frenzy of his first year, he had forgotten all about that tiny, frail little witch who looked like an under ripe vegetable. Her skin was less pale now, and her form had filled out, but when he squinted hard he could still see that girl sitting on the sorting stool like a stone growing moss with an angry glare on her face.

And when she snapped him back into reality, she still had that glare on her face.

"Charlie? Charlie Weasley, are you listening to me?"

Again, Stella found him rather speechless.

"I … I uh …" What was he supposed to say? Sorry, I don't really care for you now that I know you're a lying backstabber?

It must have showed on his face, because her unnervingly perceptive streak continued.

"You know Charlie," She said in a low, almost dangerous voice, "Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't mean I'm evil."

This was creepy. Stella never took that tone, not with anyone. If she was angry, she always let you know in a hurry. What was she on about?

"I never said you …"

"You don't have to!" Stella cut him off at full volume, shrieking and red in the face. "I can see it in the way you looked at me when I said it! God damn it Charlie, I thought that you of all people, you would accept me. Look where hoping gets you. Nowhere, that's where!"

"Uh…"

"Fine then Charlie Weasley, I don't need you anyway!" She screamed, absolutely irate.

The screen door slammed behind her with enough force to crush a bloke's skull into a thousand very tiny, unhappy pieces.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes: **Piss artist is a British slang term for a drunk person. The musical clip at the beginning is an excerpt from one of the songs I've written.

The nickname 'dragon lady' has a rather funny basis in real life. My dad, my brother and I have a running joke about my mum, who (not unlike our beloved Mrs. W) has a tendency to become err… shrill … when agitated. When we were little and just learning to talk, my dad taught us to call her dragon lady because of this tendency. We, being innocent toddlers, did so. Years of humor and jokes at her expense followed.

In the past, people have told me that I'm rather good at suspense and that my plot twists are exceedingly twisty. Some people like this about my work, and others don't. (Sorry, to those who don't, but I do this for my own amusement after all and I'm easily bored) It has always been a bit of an anomaly when a reviewer makes a correct assumption about my twisty twistyness. I sometimes joke that these rare individuals deserve a prize.

In this playful spirit, I'm implementing a little game for reviewers from here on out. Points get awarded to anyone who makes any acurate (non obvious) predictions that are right. And points to those who reveiw, even if they don't play, because I love them. Obviously, I'll dish out points for those who have already been reviewing. Maybe at the end I'll write a short request piece for the winner. What do ya'll out in readerland think of this? Good, bad, ugly? Leme know your opinion.

**Possum _(7 pts so far. Six reviews, extra point for recommending a great author.)-_** It is wild, isn't it? I do have my occasional moments of genius. (Basks in the light of her momentary intelligence) Maybe, if you're really really good, and you brush your teeth and eat your vegetables, I'll give you a little more info on that legendary game … and why Moody'l never play keeper again…

**Fenix _(9 pts so far. Seven reviews, extra points for help with my Spanish translation and corrections on my mythological information )-_**Yes, I'm rather fond of Harry meself. If Ginny didn't have him wrapped around her little freckly finger … well, she does, so that's the end of that, but a girl can dream can't she? Aren't all men clueless? (We love them anyways though.) I'm tickled pink that you found it so funny. Perhaps I'll have to have more interaction between them.

**HPM _(8 pts so far. Six reviews, extra points for rereading the books and putting me in a C2. What a sweetheart) -_** Thanks. I'm glad you liked it. Yep, they are sisters … and other things. That wasn't just an off the cuff decision, either. Tonks and Stella being sisters has been part of her character since I first started planning this story. And here's a hint: there are more surprises to come dealing with Stella's family and friends… dun dun da! As for the fic title, please take a look at the Authoress's notes for chapter one, I edited them when I changed the title and they give the lyrics behind it and hint at the larger plot.


	8. Things Like You

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Eight: Things Like You  
**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Loving things like you has wrecked my life, made me cry  
Loving things like you has made me lose my mind  
And I can't figure out why I've been hanging on  
To all these things I've tried to leave behind me for so long_

_And I think it's time to find a better way to live my life  
Than loving all those things that keep me wrapped so tight_

_Everyone wants everyone else's everything  
Some time's the more we have the less we really gain  
I'm tired of life and all that money has to buy  
Get out of my heart, out of my mind, leaving you behind_

_-'Things Like You', Sanctus Real_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The stars came out one by one as the sun went down, glimmering like drops of sweat on your upper lip after a long Quidditch practice. Crickets took up their little violins and began another movement of the subtle twilight symphony. A low-slung farm house with a large porch lay nestled safely in Downy Hills. Warm, cheerful light spilled out of its many windows and onto the garden. There on the porch, a swing was occupied by a man who was hiding from the welcoming chatter of his friends inside. The wind rustled his rusty hair affectionately.

Yes, despite the wonder of all this natural beauty, a great, angry lump sat brooding on the porch.

This lump happened to be named Charlie Weasley.

Fury burned inside him as he realized his stupid assumptions had once again landed him in a world of trouble. He had always had a bit of a problem with that. The last time he had made the mistake of a hasty assumption, he had gotten a month's worth of detentions with Filtch. Right now, he would have traded for a _year's_ worth if it meant he could forget what she had said.

"_They put me in Slytherin for a reason, after all."_

He had discovered a truth more infuriating than he knew how to handle. He hated her for not telling him, for luring him against his will into a friendship with a Slytherin. There was not a single act on earth so intrinsically wrong as Charlie Weasley befriending a Slytherin. He would rather die.

They had made his life hell back at Hogwarts. He'd been Slytherin's favorite target. They gleefully embarrassed and harassed him at every turn, insulting his family in Potions when he couldn't do anything about it, chucking waste bins at him, chucking him _into_ waste bins … the list went on. He had been a shy kid, and hadn't had many friends, which only made things harder. Bill had tried to be a proper big brother and protect him, but Charlie hated feeling helpless and told him to shove off by the first Christmas break.

Even as he got older and gained more respect as a Quidditch player and a good friend, the entire Slytherin house had enjoyed humiliating him whenever possible. He slowly got better at defending himself, but it never completely stopped. Infuriating memories of their torment swirled around: the time they'd shoved his head in a bowl of pudding, the time they had stolen his knickers and charmed them to fly around the great hall…

They were bastards and wankers, every last sodding one of them. Slytherins were soulless, heartless gits who liked nothing better than tricking people and hurting them. He still could hardly believe that Stella was one of them, but he knew that she would be no different than the rest now that her secret was out. She had been lying from day one, pretending to be a kind, caring person. It had all been a brilliant act and he, being the troll that he was, had fallen for it.

He should have known better than to be fooled by a pretty face, a warm smile, and a nice pair of … (no, best not to think about that) … well, he just should have known better.

Honestly, was that warm, hot coco smile even real? Was it just another act? What did he know about her when push came to shove? He had only spent six months with her, after all.

How could he have been daft enough to think that you could actually get to know someone in just six months? He had been off his head to imagine that he had feelings for a woman he barely knew! Her little secret had shown him that despite the easy comradery he had been deluded to believe in, she might as well be a complete stranger.

He saw everything in a whole new light. Each word, each gesture took on new meaning now that he knew that she was really a dark witch. The way she enjoyed burning things now seemed ominous and sinister. (He ignored the fact that he liked to blow things up as much as the next chap) Even the way she held her knife when eating made him squeamish.

Every memory of her company was tainted by the fact that she was what she was. Even the ones that he treasured the most looked different now. The day he met her back at Wallachia, she had been called away immediately after reattaching his leg. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but now he remembered that she excused herself just after he had mentioned that he was a Gryffindor. To think he'd found it endearing, the way she used to stare into the camp fires up at the gorge! Now he knew that she was probably just to busy plotting evil things to join in the conversations.

Now that he knew, he would never be able to look at her the way he used to.

Merlin's knackers, why had he ever trusted her? What had he seen in her?

Worst of all, part of him wanted nothing more than to burst in, scoop her up and apologize for doubting her. He wanted to tell her that he didn't care what house she'd been in, or if she practiced the dark arts, or even if she was using him as a pawn in an evil plot for you-know-who. He wanted to say that he didn't care, but he couldn't.

You only did something like that for someone you were madly in love with and despite being lonely lately, Charlie knew that he did not love Stella. Even if she had been a Gryffindor, it wouldn't have changed that. He had cared about her, he knew. He had thought of her as a friend (and spent more time thinking about how to get her into a broom closet than he should have) but he did not love her. And nothing short of desperate undying love could ever change the fact that she had deceived him.

Charlie was dead tempted to skip dinner, forget the fact that he was here to receive a new assignment for the order, and fly back to the burrow to think things over.

That's it! He'd slip out before anyone noticed the obvious sting of betrayal in the slump of his shoulders. He'd get back to the empty house, turn up his music and curse every lawn gnome in sight. He would drink himself silly and cry like a baby while he had the luxury of privacy.

But he got no further than the corner of the house when low and behold, he heard her voice.

A sliver of his mind still traitorously jumped when it heard her dark chocolate tone. He had always wondered if her mouth would taste as mellow and bittersweet as her voice sounded.

Damn! For a moment he had almost forgotten to hate her for lying to him. He quickly got a hold of himself though, when he heard the gruff murmur of a man's voice in reply. A stab of jealousy shot through him. So now that he knew she was a slimy Slytherin, she went off and found the next available guy to seduce?

Under most other circumstances, Charlie would have discretely walked away from what was obviously a private conversation. He prided himself on not being overly nosey or intruding unwanted into other people's business. But the age old green-eyed monster called envy reared up its ugly head and bit him where it would hurt the most. He squatted down behind a leafy petunia plant and waited for his prey, peering between the broad foliage.

Even if she was a snake, she was still good looking and he had missed his shot at her. He was jealous, he would admit it! So who had she found to replace him, anyway? He tried to remember the names and faces of the other male members their age. Alvaro? Quinn? He entertained graphic thoughts of snapping the unwary bloke's neck.

Needless to say, Charlie was surprised to see Stella round the corner with none other than Remus Lupin, her sister's fiancé. She didn't look like she was trying to trick him or seduce him at all. In fact, Charlie could hardly even call her expression friendly. She looked about as festive as a headsman with an axe. When they were close enough for him to listen in, he found that his guess was not far off.

"She is my baby sister, Mr. Lupin." She strolled along with her hands clasped behind her back. An aura of judgment hung on her shoulders like an invisible shroud.

"I think Nympha would object to that viewpoint." Lupin tried to lighten the mood. "And please, call me Remus. You are family now."

She gave him an undecided, appraising glance. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is why I asked you out here, Mr. Lupin."

The older man let out a frustrated sigh. From the sounds of it, she had been giving the poor chap the third degree for a while now.

"Look here, Miss Tonks." It seemed that calm, placid Lupin might actually be losing his patience with her. This would be something to see. "Just because I am a werewolf does not mean that I am the scum of the earth. I am not a degenerate monster. I am not going to rip out Nymphadora's throat in the middle of the night. I am not going to decapitate her and sate my blood lust! Merlin, I would never hurt a hair on her head! I love-"

His pitch was beginning to climb, but Stella cut him off.

"First of all, Mr. Lupin, it's Estrella, Not Tonks. Secondly, I am well aware of the plight of the modern werewolf. You might even say I'm sympathetic."

"Oh really?" The shabby looking, sweater-vest-wearing wizard replied with uncharacteristic sarcasm. "Somehow, spending the last half hour being questioned six ways from Sunday does little to assure me of your non-bias."

"I would do no less to any man who wanted to marry Nyms. Your condition has very little to do with it. I love her, it's that simple. I will be an over protective big sister until the day they start digging my grave."

Lupin grunted noncommittally, and glared up at a waxing quarter moon. "My entire life has been based around 'my condition', as you so delicately put it. Nearly everyone I've ever met has run or tried to hurt me when they found out. Even most of the order members tiptoe around me like I'm contagious. What makes you so likely to be any different?"

"I've been working in the third basement since the day I left Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin. It wouldn't really go very well for me down there if I was a bigot, now would it?"

"The thir… That's impossible, only healers and… Who told you that?" He demanded, absolutely flabbergasted.

Charlie had no idea what they were talking about. Third basement? Was it some sort of code? Was Lupin a dark wizard too?

No. That was ridiculous. He was a member of the Order. Dumbledore had trusted him. And besides, Mr. Lupin was a Gryffindor! He couldn't be on the other side. He was dangerous, but that wasn't his fault.

But then what were they talking about?

"If you must know, _Mr. Lupin_, I specialize in lycanthropy and creature injuries at St. Mungo's … used to at least. Another story for another day. I also happen to have my doctorate in curative research, and I studied under Damocles Belby himself. I am not a prejudiced idiot, nor am I an undereducated villager with a torch and pitchfork and I would thank you not to treat me as such."

Quiet and cricket music reigned supreme for a moment. Lupin obviously hadn't known. Hell, even Charlie hadn't known about her studying with Belby. Despite the fact that Charlie resented her, he had to allow that he was a bit impressed. Damocles Belby had been taking on fewer and fewer handpicked apprentices every year since he had invented the Wolfsbane potion. He was a very important man in the healing community. If Stella had been good enough to get accepted as one of his students, why had Mungo's sacked her?

They walked in silence at a snail's pace while Lupin digested what she had said. After a few minutes, Stella cocked her head and chuckled a little.

"In fact," She added with a thread of bitterness, "I would imagine that there are few people here tonight who can claim to understand your predicament half so well as I can."

Remus Lupin was not amused. "Enlighten me."

Her brief smile was a self depreciating. "You and I, we aren't so different. Sure, the Order is a bit more respectable since the battle at Ministry Headquarters but still, it's not exactly composed of the cream of the crop. And yet we remain in this group as two of the odder oddities. I guess you might say that you and I are the outcasts among the outcasts."

"I'm not sure I see where you draw the parallel, Miss … Estrella. I am a volatile, if unwilling, half-breed human. I have no hope of ever securing a steady income or permanent residence. You are a young woman with a promising career and a loving family." Mr. Lupin was his patient, understanding self once more. He looked truly concerned for her.

She simply shook her head. "Things are not always what they appear, Mr. Lupin. You would be surprised at how quickly even you might judge me if you were to look hard enough."

Lupin had the good sense to change the subject then, but Charlie noiselessly wished he hadn't. Stella had been about to confess! She was lying to everyone, and the sooner they knew, the better.

"So, Miss Estrella, do I pass muster yet? Am I allowed to go back to my fiancé and my treacle tart?" He said with his usual halfhearted, good-natured expression.

Stella studied him for a minute, the asked him a question so quietly that Charlie could barely hear it.

"Do you love her?" She whispered, looking away over the stars.

"Yes."

Remus didn't even blink.

"Then yes, I 'give you my blessing', for whatever its worth. Take care of her, love her, and don't give in when she whines, yes?"

Lupin threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time Charlie'd ever heard the man laugh sincerely. "I think I can handle that."

"Good. Then there's only one more condition to this agreement."

"Condition?"

"Yes. Would you consider …

Charlie never got to hear the rest of her sentence, because at that moment a sharp tangle of bony little limbs and spiky, sassafras hair fell off of the roof and onto his back.

Tonks had the worst sense of timing.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** A waxing quarter moon is a term for when the moon is ¼ visible and is 'waxing', or increasing, leading up to a full moon. Waning is the opposite of waxing, when the moon's phases are leading up to a new moon.

I've started another Harry Potter fic that I think ya'll might enjoy. (You can find it by clicking on the link at the top of the page next to author and scrolling down.) It's called Athena's Spear, and is narrated by none other than our beloved Prof. McGonagall. The idea came from several incidents in the books where (I think at least) that Jo was giving us hints about Minerva's past. Please read, enjoy, and review.

Oh, and I changed the game idea. Questions are a stupid thing to put at the end of a chapter. Just make predictions like usual and maybe one of you lucky critters will pull a Trelawney on us.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Fenix- (10)** Chuck? Haha! I never remembered that that is another name for Charlie … you've given me an idea and I'm going to have fun with it … (cackles an evil genius laugh!) Yes, he is a biased moron, as this chapter proves. It might take him a while to get over that, the git. No, no squirrels … at least not this chapter.

**Possum- (8)** Right on. There's nothing wrong with a little cunning. Too bad Charlie is being a troll about it. Poor girl. More of the 'crotchety badger'? Sorry, not this chapter, but coming soon. If you want a more immediate Alastor fix you might try my new fic, Athena's Spear. There will be Moody aplenty, especially in the next few chapters.

And what do you mean 'or else'? Yeash, first Fenix here threatens me with riots, and now you threaten me. Reviewers these days, I tell you. They have no respect. Isn't that right Charlie?

Huh? Uh, right…

(purely joking on that last one)


	9. Bangers, Bones and Bond

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Nine: Bangers, Bones, and Bond  
**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A sickening crunch rang out in the otherwise peaceful evening, followed by a volley of loud explicatives.

"Ahh!"

"Shit!"

"What the Hell?"

"Who's there?"

"Oh, my arm…" Tonks groaned thickly.

Charlie could not breathe. His chest had just been crushed like a soda can under a sledge hammer. Who would have guessed that little stick figure Tonks would weigh so much?

He was vaguely aware of the girl being rolled off his back as he struggled for air, and then someone turned him face up on the rough wood porch.

"What the Hell?" Stella repeated herself, though in a more disgruntled fashion than the first exclamation. "Charlie?"

"The one and only." He managed to cough out, rolling away from her touch. He did_ not_ want her near him, especially right now.

"What do you think you were doing out here eavesdropping, you git?" Stella looked ready to thrash him.

If it hadn't hurt so much to breath, Charlie would have laughed his ass off at the irony of the situation.

"Miss Estrella, leave the boy alone. I think there are more pressing matters for your attention at the moment." Said a very grave Lupin who was crouched over his fiancé.

"Don't bother with it sis." Tonks was a bit pale and was cradling her left arm, but showed no other ill effects from falling two stories. "You should probably stop trying to kill him and give him a look over though."

Stella ignored her sister and shooed Lupin away. Her whole demeanor changed when she produced her wand from somewhere in her robes and preformed a number of diagnostic spells on the blue-haired Auror. There was a crisp, no nonsense air that hung around her, but she seemed oddly tender at the same time. Charlie recognized it from his many trips to the medical tent back at Wallachia.

After a few seconds, she pursed her lips and gave Tonks a hard stare.

"Don't bother with it? Move your fingers if you are doing so well then Nyms."

Tonks wiggled the fingers of her right hand vigorously. Stella glared.

"Other hand."

"Oh, bugger." She grumbled and the hand remained stationary.

"I thought so. _Ferula_." She tapped the arm in question, binding it magically with a splint and bandages out of thin air. "_Revelous Morsus_."

A glowing green image of the injured girls' arm appeared in front of Stella's face. She stared at it intensely for a moment and it seemed to shed layers of skin and muscle until only the bones were visible.

Even with his limited knowledge of medicine, Charlie knew that those big jagged cracks were probably not supposed to be there.

"Seven fractures. Seven!" She growled. "And there you sit telling me that you are fine! You'll be the death of me one of these days Nyms."

"My calling in life, sis."

"I'm sure. Mr. Lupin, would you please take her inside and ask Auntie A. for some pain potion? Make sure she drinks two spoonfuls and not a drop less. I'm not going to tolerate any of your Gryffindor bullheadedness tonight, Nyms."

"Oh bugger this, Ace. You know I hate your stupid potions!"

"I think you should listen to her, Nympha. Seven fractures is nothing to sneeze at." Lupin looked rather alarmed. Charlie didn't blame the chap.

Seven fractures? He found a whole new appreciation for Tonks's bravery. He had known that she had the courage to face hardened criminals and dark wizards, but she hadn't even shed a single tear! If he was honest, he knew that he would be crying like a baby by now. Nymphadora Tonks was everything a Gryffindor ought to be, unlike some people he knew.

"Thank you Mr. Lu …err… Remus. I appreciate the support." The two girls shared a meaningful look. "I'd let you off the hook about the potion Nyms, but we'll both need a bit to eat before I can heal it properly."

"Yes_ mother_."

"Brat." Stella smiled.

"Moron." Tonks grinned back at her while Lupin steered her inside.

Charlie was paying so much attention to the two of them leaving that he was a bit startled when Stella rounded on him.

"I'm not going to ask what you were doing out here Charlie, because I honestly don't want to know." She said squarely after a moment of glaring at him.

Breathing was still a bit painful, but he did his best to sit up and face her. He didn't want her anywhere near him. Not now, not ever. "I'm sure you've done worse."

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him blankly. After a second she knelt down next to him and pulled out her wand again.

"Don't come near me with that, Slytherin."

She closed her eyes and bent her head away from him, pausing again for a moment before continuing to assess his condition.

If he hadn't known any better, he would have said that she was hurt.

"I'm not going to stab you, you ass."

"Right. You probably are just waiting for a chance to kill me off before I can tell anyone your secret."

"And you said I have a morbid sense of humor!" She giggled –giggled!- but it was a forced, unnatural sound. Stella was not well suited to giggling. "Oh … God, Charlie, you weren't joking?"

"Of course not." He huffed and felt uneasy. "I know you want me out of the way so that you can carry out your dark plans."

"My … dark plans? My secret? Lord Charlie, it's not like they don't know what house I was in. Did you really think that everyone didn't know? I don't keep it a secret!"

"Ha! Then why didn't I ever know?"

"Well I may not hide it, but I don't advertise it to the world either. I mean, I don't know here, but it might have a little something to do with the way you're reacting right now, don't you think? _Sothotumn_." She added absently and a gentle tingling ran through Charlie's abdomen. He soon found it much easier to breathe.

"I told you not to come near me with that!"

"You had a bruised rib. I was only trying to help you! Don't you trust me at all?"

"No."

"I thought we were friends, Charlie." She was really angry now. "All the fun we had back at the reserve, all the stuff we pulled, doesn't it count for anything?"

"Not with a slimy, lying Slytherin who-"

He was cut off by the arrival of Mrs. Tonks out on the porch. He liked Mrs. Tonks a lot. She was a gifted seer and a very respected witch both in the Order of the Phoenix and in the wizarding world at large. There was an aura of otherworldly tranquility that radiated wherever she went. Peace and calm trailed behind her like her long, silver hair and she was sought out by many for her gentle spirit and sage advice. She was the opposite of his own mother in many ways, but when she was around Tonks and Stella somehow the two women seemed very much the same. And it didn't hurt matters that she was an excellent baker. His mouth watered just thinking about her homemade strawberry-rhubarb pies.

But now the quiet, stately witch just looked at him, then at Stella, then at him again with an expression of confusion and worry before speaking quietly.

"Dinner is ready. I came to warn you two before there was nothing left. I hope everything is alright?"

"Fine Auntie A. Just bloody wonderful." Stella got up in a huff and rushed inside.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dinner was an angry blur.

He spent the entire time watching her out of the corner of his eye as talked and laughed loudly with some of the other girls from the order. He couldn't believe that she'd healed him out of the goodness of her heart. She must want something from him. That had to be it.

"Charlie, that banger is not going to fight back. Stop playing with your food and eat it." His mother reprimanded him towards the end of the meal.

He looked down at his plate to see sausage bits the size of fairy eggs and faint knife scratches on the china.

Had he done that?

He flicked his wand under the table and grunted a quiet spell to restore the plate. He had never been powerful enough to master nonverbal incantations. It had often frustrated him back in his Hogwarts days, especially in transfiguration class. It still did. Sometimes being a pure blood wasn't good for much of anything.

He wasn't one of those idiots who flaunted their heritage and looked down on anyone who was lacking, but there was a tiny part of him that was proud to know that so many people had gone before him with magic in their veins. It was moments like these that he wondered if his ancestors would have been disappointed had they lived to see him.

He didn't have time to consider the answer to the question. The table was being cleared and several people were transfiguring the room to suit the needs of another official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Dinning chairs became hard-backed lecture seats and the long table itself was soon a podium. Once all of the members settled down and the underagers were kicked out, (with a few loud protests; he couldn't blame the kids.) the meeting began.

The room was secured first thing. A couple older members cast dozens of secrecy and concealment charms on the room and the other members. It was none other than Mrs. Molly Weasley herself who put the final Imperturbable Charm on the doors and windows.

Only a select and trusted few were allowed the position of a 'ward-watcher', and Charlie had been surprised and dead chuffed when he came to his first meeting to find out that Mrs. Weasley herself was head of this elite group. As Keeper of the Wards, she was one of the ten governing heads of the Order. It made sense when he thought about it. Despite being a housewife (something some of the women looked down on her for) his mum was a fairly powerful witch and was very, very good at using magical boundaries and barriers.

His parents had number of private jokes about that, some of which Charlie wished he had never learned.

Then came the annoying process of making sure that all of the members were, indeed, members of the order. Unsurprisingly, a large number of the members were of Aurors and Unspeakables from the ministry, and they considered this their right at the start of every bloody meeting. It took nearly a half hour for them to check and recheck everyone for signs of Polyjuice, morphing charms, invisibility measures and Imperius Curses. (From what he gathered, those were the hardest to spot.)

If it weren't for Mad-Eye Moody taking charge of the row he was sitting in, Charlie might have found some of the other member's predicaments rather funny. Kingsley Shacklebolt was running his wand up and down Dedalus Diggle's arm, producing a flurry of giggles from the ticklish little man. Conway Croaker and Jaclyn Jetter were both red in the face when the older man went through the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and found a vial of Madame Pointer's Prophylactic Potion. Even though it was a Class M-4 Non-Tradable substance and both parties worked for the Ministry, Charlie saw him slip it back into her hands without another word and continue down the row.

Once the room was sealed and all of the members were sworn in, the meeting began. Remus Lupin cleared his throat and got up on the podium. As usual, Charlie found it odd to see the graying, tired man in the place that he used to imagine vibrant, twinkle-eyed Professor Dumbledore standing. But despite his 'unfortunate condition', as Mrs. Weasley liked to call it, and the fact that he looked closer to sixty than his real age of thirty seven, Lupin had been named co-head of the order along with Mad-Eye and Professor … err… Headmistress McGonagall.

It had to say something about Professor Dumbledore that he needed three people to fill his shoes, but there had been no other way. Out of the most important order members McGonagall was too busy with matters at Hogwarts, Lupin would constantly out of the picture for a few days a month, and Mad-Eye was well, mad. Still, they made a decent team with Lupin doing most of the work and the other two lending their prestige and experience to the role. People had come to trust them almost as much as they had the last leader.

Lupin shuffled his notes, then welcomed everyone warmly and made an offhand joke about being searched in a strong, toothy voice that was permanently at odds with his sickly features. Then he went right to business mode and started rattling off the current objectives of the order and what was happening to carry them out.

By the time he started addressing current missions and the latest results (or lack thereof) of Operation Seeker, Charlie's brain had switched to automatic-broom mode. When he had signed up as a member order two years ago, Charlie had imagined that he would be part of an exciting whirlwind of spying and dueling and intrigue, like the muggle spy James Bond.

Donaghan Tremlett and a couple of his other muggleborn mates had tried to explain 'citkoms' and 'moovys' to them for ages back at Hogwarts before finally succeeding. They gave all hope on the verbal education of their pureblood peers in their third year and snuck an old 'telly' into the forbidden forest after Christmas break.

The strange little box was very confusing and alien, and there were a lot of bizarre episodes or a 'moovy' that lasted for hours. 'Moovys' were easier to understand … sort of … but the only ones Charlie'd enjoyed were about an English spy named James Bond. The plots didn't always make sense and none of the pureblood chaps ever did manage to figure out just who exactly Bond was fighting, but at least there were some brilliant explosions and girls with very nice looking breasts. Besides, the Bond bloke had sounded a lot like his dad's stories about the first Order of the Phoenix.

Charlie had been hooked. From then on, he always requested Bond 'moovys' every Thursday when the gang slipped out to the glen by the lake, fantasizing about his dad's old stories about the first incarnation of the Order.

Reality, however, was nothing like Mr. Weasley's stories.

Charlie's first earth-shattering orders had been to stay at the reserve and 'improve international relations', whatever that was supposed to mean. It hadn't been quite as exciting as the boat chase in 'From Russia with Love' (one of Charlie's all time favorite scenes) but it hadn't been the easiest 'mission' either. Being quieter than most people, it usually took him longer to make friends, but he had eventually done it and enjoyed every minute of it.

Then not more than a few months ago, he'd received a request from McGonagall to return to England. She had wanted someone to supplement his brother Bill as an insider at Gringots, working as a dragon feeder. He'd accepted without thinking and stupidly raced home. But there had been no James Bond action, no dueling, no intrigue. Now he was broke, his brother was in a hospital bed, and he hadn't gotten even the most useless of missions in nearly two weeks.

He longed to see the weather-beaten gates of Wallachia Mountains, to feel the clean, biting Carpathian wind at his back as he flew over the magnificent mountains at dawn. He missed Grigori, Fyedka, Stanislav, and the rest of his mates. Hell, he even missed Hedeon, the fat, greasy camp cook whose food was as unpredictable as his temper.

Most of all, he missed the dragons, but he couldn't bring himself to think about them. If he did that, he might actually start to cry.

No, much better to try to focus on the bloody boring meeting. He had been a fool to come back here, just to be shunted off onto useless missions because he wasn't as powerful as the Aurors. All his James Bond spying delusions had been ruthlessly crushed. There was no dueling here, no action, and all of the pretty witches were either already attached or fancied someone who's name was not Charlie Weasley.

Except for Stella, that was … but thoughts of her were about as welcome as thoughts of Wallachia.

Unfortunately, Charlie's brain rarely listened to directions. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, three rows up, as Lupin droned on about upcoming assignments. He counted the number of knots in the little hairnet she wore at the base of her neck and silently hated her all the while. She'd tricked him! She'd used him! He wasn't sure how exactly, but he knew she had.

His piercing scowl of doom was broken when Mad-Eye Moody jabbed him in the ribs.

"Assignments, Chuck." He growled in what Charlie thought might be an amused tone and thrust a sealed envelope into Charlie's hands.

"Stop mooning at the skirts and get to yer business."

Mooning at her? He wished he could hex her!

"Oh, I expect Potter'll be wanting to see you. Boy's been campaigning like mad for people to play after dinner. Even rounded me up for a night." Mad-Eye muttered darkly before ambling off after another poor unsuspecting sod.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

Barely five minutes after the meeting let out, Harry accosted him in the front hall. He looked as happy as a niffler in a gold mine when Charlie agreed to play keeper. The thin bloke was normally a quiet guy, though a lot more serious and thoughtful than Charlie himself, but when it came to Quidditch it was like someone had lit a fire under his cauldron.

Charlie liked Harry a lot, and it had nothing to do with the people who went around calling him 'The Chosen One'. (One more proof that Stella was a terrible person.) To begin with, he was Ron's best friend. Ronnie could be a bit of an idiot sometimes and a pain in the arse of a little brother, but he was a brilliant judge of character – not to mention a letter writer of epic proportions. While Charlie had been in Romania, his letters from school were something he'd looked forward to every week. They were always brimming with moans about homework and girls, but occasionally detailed the adventures that he, Harry, and Ronnie's long time secret crush Hermione Granger had together.

Then this summer, Charlie and Harry had spent several otherwise boring days at the burrow discussing the war and women and life in general. Harry did have of a bit of a foul mouth and a massive amount of irreverence for the Order, but Charlie could sympathize once Harry confided in him about Dumbledore's death and the way that the Order was keeping him from searching for the horcruxes. (Those things gave him the willies) Not even Ron had shared those secrets with him, and Charlie had found a whole new level of respect for Harry Potter, deciding he was a very decent chap and telling him that he'd always be on hand if the kid needed some help.

So Charlie was more than happy to oblige Harry when he asked, both as his best friend's older brother and as a friend himself. It would be good to get his mind off of other things anyway.

Soon enough, all fifteen of them had geared up in a hodgepodge of old school uniforms and second hand pads and shouldered their brooms for the trek to the field. The Tonks's had a gorgeous Quidditch pitch about a kilometer from the house. On the walk out there, Harry gave him a briefing on both the teams.

"Ron's got a well-set up team, all things considered, but we got pretty fucked for players. Want a rundown of the opposition?"

Charlie nodded.

"Right then. Alvaro is passable for a seeker, but you'll be up against a damn good set of chasers." Harry's mouth no longer fazed Charlie. He couldn't blame the kid for being a bit foul after all the hell life seemed determined to put him through.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Tonks, Mackay, and Gin. They're thick as thieves, those three. Its like they can read each other's bloody minds and Gin's flying is almost as good as her … uh, cooking." He corrected lamely. The kid still turned red when he mentioned Ginny around her brothers, most likely for reasons Charlie didn't want to think about. It had taken him a while to come to terms with his baby sister dating, but he liked Harry well enough that it didn't bother him as much anymore.

"Eh … what was I talking about? Oh, right, other team." Harry said a little too brightly.

"You'll have to watch out for their beaters too. Ron's got Kingsley and one of Tonks's friends, that Herman girl. Fuck, I can't remember her bloody name, but man, can she swing a bat. She's another one to keep tabs on." Charlie remembered the girl Harry was talking about. Her name was Moira and Bill had actually dated her for a year or two back at Hogwarts, though Charlie never knew what his brother saw in her. She was cold and arrogant and reminded him strongly of a dead fish with her large, unblinking eyes and dirty blond hair.

"Sounds like Ronnie's got himself a decent team. What about us?"

"Less than brilliant." Harry said sourly. "Vern, Dung, and a girl we know from school, Luna. Fred and George are damn good beaters, but my chasers could make fucking _Merlin_ cry some days."

Charlie knew Harry was probably being a bit overdramatic, but let it go. "You've got Mundungus on your team?"

"Yeah, the only ones me and Ron can ever get to play are some people from school or just graduated and a couple of the old geezers. Eventually I found enough fit players to budge out most of the old folks, but I've had to hang on to Dung and Mr. Diggle for my team cause I've run out of options. You'll be replacing Mr. Diggle Charlie, thank God." Harry looked upwards in a gesture of relief.

Charlie stifled a laugh. Imagining Dedalus Diggle on a broomstick was hilarious, but Harry seemed a bit touchy about 'his team'.

"Yeah, Mad-Eye mentioned something about playing once."

Harry looked at him dryly, silently telling him that this was a bad topic. "Once is the key word there, Charlie. I've he ever comes near this pitch again, the entire team will transfigure themselves into squirrels and chase him off."

"Squirrels? Are you mad? You'd all be dead in heartbeats!"

"He'd have a heart attack first." Harry looked a bit guilty for a second. "I over heard him muttering in his sleep once when me and Ron and him had to … never mind. That's not important."

"Alright, I guess. But squirrels, Harry? Seriously?"

"Let's just say that Professor Moody … isn't fond of them."

Harry had an evil gleam in his eye and wore one of those devil-may-care smiles that Charlie was used to seeing on Stella.

"On second thought, I don't want to know."

"Nah, you probably don't Charlie."

The pitch was a thing of beauty. Sharp, sterile light flooded the slightly soggy hedges that marked out the increments and the six metal hoops gleamed invitingly under the stars. He hadn't played in nearly six years, not since school. It seemed like ages really.

Late in his seventh year he'd had a terrible accident and permanently damaged his right hand, right along with his dreams of playing professionally. He had had offers on the table from three different teams at the time, but all of them had been retracted when they found out. After a few months at St. Mungo's, Charlie had regained almost complete use of the injured limb and learned to do everything else with his left hand, but he had avoided Quidditch for years. It was only about a year ago that he had started playing again. Now every time that he picked up his broom it reminded him that life was full of second chances.

Damn, he was getting sentimental. He hated that.

Right now all he really wanted the chance to do was to can Ron's team. And can them they did. Harry managed to catch the snitch about twenty minutes in, and while their chasers hadn't scored a single point, Charlie had blocked most of the other team's goals as well.

Everyone was a bit sweaty and tired as they headed back to the house and all thoughts were fixed on Mrs. Tonks's pies and something to drink. No one expected to see Jaclyn Jetter run out of the house with a big black bird on her heels. After a second, the Herman girl recognized her pet Augurey and trundled over to take a bit of parchment from his talons.

Charlie didn't pay much attention except to absently note that it was odd for an Augurey to consent to being someone's pet. Normally they were very proud, elusive birds but this vulture-like creature looked a bit … well, dopey for lack of a better word. It cocked it's head at odd angles as though it couldn't see properly. He was lost in thought examining the creature when fish-eyed Moira approached him and handed him the parchment.

"It's from St. Mungo's, Mr. Weasley." She said in a light, melodic voice that didn't fit her face. He knew she was an important healer there, but what did it have to do with …

"Your brother, he is…"

"Oh shit! Bill!"

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Authoress's Notes: **A banger is British slang for a particularly delicious (in my opinion) type of sausage. They are often served with mashed potatoes and the dish is referred to as 'bangers and mashed'. Very, very good. I recommend it to anyone. Skirts is Moody's old fashioned and slightly less than reverent term for girls.

I realize that this chapter was not as action packed as some others, but no worries. Next chapter will make up for all of that tenfold, I promise.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Possum (11)- **Yes, inner turmoil does wonders for bringing out character. The third basement? I spose it would be cruel not to tell you, but maybe I'm a cruel person… you never know

**HarryPotterMagic (11)- **No, despite all of Chuck's pigheadedness, Stella is not evil. He just needs to figure that out. YOU SANG IN A JAZZ CHOIR? Point for you! (Hugs you excitedly, depleting your oxygen supply) I was a member of our high school's ladies' jazz choir from its maiden year on. I adored it and fell in love with jazz shortly there after. My little bro was a sweetie and got me a copy of Ella Fitzgerald's greatest hits this year for Christmas.

Something is up with Stella, but obviously I can't tell you if you have guessed right or not just yet… where would the fun be in that? Same goes for the mystery of Stella's parentage. Thanks, I was a bit afraid to expand on one of my favorite characters, but I thought that it was silly to have everybody writing Charlie as some sort of a saint. I mean, he's sexy and wonderful and generally a great guy, but everybody has their faults, right?

**Fenix (10)- **Point for providing me inspiration on the squirrels and Chuck. You are such a useful person! (That sounds odd, I guess, but coming from me it's a compliment.) Your predictions about Stella should be answered in a few chapters, and I hope you like what I did with the squirrels!

**Rosie(2**)- New reviewer! Yay! I find your own work to be a joy to read, so the sentiment is doubly appreciated. Welcome to the party, dear. Thanks for thinking that they are in character. I hope that opinion continues as I continue to take liberties with Charlie's personality. Please do keep up reviewing, I love to get feedback. Glad to hear that you enjoy my sense of humor, odd and morbid though it sometimes is, and I will definitely give some thought to your comment on mum vrs. Mrs. W.


	10. From My Sleep

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Ten: From My Sleep**

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

_Is our world spinning backwards?  
What has brought about this change?  
Cause you see that people aren't the same_

_I wish I were dreaming  
And could wake up from my sleep  
And find us all the way we used to be_

_Cause the love that used to be is dying  
Is anybody even trying?  
And I don't know how, I don't know why  
But somethin' in my soul is crying_

_Sometimes love has to drive a nail into its own hand  
Sometimes love has to drive a nail into its own hand  
Sometimes love…_

_-'Sometimes Love', Chris Rice_

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

Charlie raced down St. Mungo's quiet corridors faster than a chaser at the world cup, clutching the messily written note in his sweaty hand like it was the most important quaffle of the game.

_-Weasley patient's condition has changed. Family requested.-_

That was it.

The writer hadn't bothered to mention if this meant Bill was dying or already dead, the pillock.

Charlie's heart was about to spring right out of his chest. His legs felt like wooden stumps underneath him after the freezing broom ride to get there. He didn't care. Thoughts of his brother were a blur in his mind.

The sheepish look Bill used to get when he snuck out their bedroom window to see Francine Fawcett the summer of his seventh year. The time when Bill showed him the secret passage that lead out to the forbidden forest. (Right after Charlie'd gotten caught sneaking out there to watch the unicorns for the forty-second time in his first three months at Hogwarts.) How Bill had come out to watch his first game. How he'd said that he was proud of him, even though they'd lost. That was the day Charlie stopped looking at Bill as his big brother and started seeing him as his best friend.

Charlie felt a burst of speed that he didn't know he had left as he sprinted up the clammy stairwell and pushed away the haunting idea of never seeing Bill again. He wouldn't think that way. He couldn't.

Life without Bill in it wouldn't be worth jack shit.

And suddenly Charlie found himself in the Dai Llewellyn wing, standing just out side of the door to the Cletus Cragstone ward with his hand suspended above the doorknob.

"He'll be alright. He'll be alright. He'll be alri…" Charlie chanted silently and stepped in before his courage failed him.

Nothing could ever look as wonderful as the picture he found inside: Gin and Ronnie, smiling happily. Fred and George, babbling away about a new girl they had hired to help out with the shop. (Sans a few inches of red hair.) Dad's arm around Mum's shoulder. Mum sniffling into his sleeve and beaming at her children.

And in there next to the bed sat Fleur, grinning madly from ear to ear with a death grip on her fiancé's hand. Her conscious fiancé.

Charlie wanted to sing.

Even Stella's presence couldn't ruin such a perfect moment, but thankfully she left as soon as she saw him. She did have some sense of decency, he decided, even if she was a slimy Slytherin. It was hours before she returned.

There was a crisp knock, quickly followed by her dark head poking round the door.

"Check up time." She stated matter-of-factly. She didn't bother to apologize for barging in on them, not even a 'by your leave'. Just walked in and started running her short hemlock wand over Bill's body, performing diagnostic spells.

"Plain rude if you ask me." He thought to himself.

At least she was quick about it. Fifteen minutes later, the rest of the family had stopped paying attention to her and gone back to filling Bill in on what he had missed while unconscious.

"Charlie." She singled him out quietly and grudgingly. "Bout time you got here. He came round nearly two hours before you showed up. Don't tell me that damn bird of hers got lost again?"

"No. Bird's fine." He replied sullenly. He didn't want to talk to her.

"Oh. Good." She went back to making notes on her clipboard, her wand tucked behind her ear.

The silence was stiff between them. He avoided looking at her for several minutes before she took the hint and left. No one else seemed to notice when the door closed behind her and she was gone.

Good riddance.

**.ψ.**

The night was cut short when Bill fell asleep around eleven o'clock. One by one, family members retreated back to the burrow. Only Fleur was staying on at Stella's flat now that Bill was obviously out of the woods and even she was eventually dragged from the room by her mother-in-law under strict orders to take a draught for dreamless sleep. The poor girl hadn't had more than an hour or two of rest since the battle at Hogwarts, and even her magical beauty was beginning to fade a little under the strain. These days she just looked pale and drawn instead of gorgeous.

And Bill wouldn't be left alone anyroads, because Charlie decided to stay until his brother woke up. He didn't really want to go back home until Bill came with him, but he didn't want to spend anymore time at Stella's place either.

Around seven, he heard Bill's rusty tenor.

"Where is she?"

Charlie didn't have to ask who. What he wouldn't give to be so in love with a girl! (Even if it did turn a bloke into a complete bampot at times.)

"Stella's place. Mum made her down something to sleep."

"Good. She looked like she needs it." Bill said with a fond hint of over-protectiveness in his voice and a tired yawn.

"You've got a point. You two look like a matched pair right now." If Bill had been anybody else that comment probably would have earned Charlie a black eye, but even if he was scarred for life and looking like crap his brother knew what he meant.

"How bad is it Charlie?" Bill asked after a few seconds.

"Well I gotta tell you, you aren't the prettiest thing on two legs. I wouldn't want to kiss you, leastwise. The scars aren't so bad anymore, but you look really peaky. Mum is going to force feed you like a regular mother dragon once you get out of here."

Both of them laughed, picturing Mrs. Weasley regurgitating a half eaten deer carcass and trying to stuff it down Bill's throat. Then they simply sat there for a moment, enjoying one another's company.

"I still can't believe she wants … she still wants to be with me, you know?"

"Huh? Fleur? Of course man, she's mad for you!"

Bill smiled, closing his eyes. "I know."

This did nothing to help Charlie's current feelings of loneliness.

"You love her, don't you?" He couldn't help the jealousy in his voice.

"Yeah, little bro. I do."

Stella chose this inconvenient time to pop in and do her round. Charlie would have given every last galleon he had to his name to have another healer, any other healer in the room right in the middle of a conversation about women and love. He knew he'd never loved her, but he had been awfully fond of her just the afternoon before. Funny how finding out what she really was could change things so quickly.

For her part, Stella chose to ignore him.

"How are you this morning Bill?" She inquired with forced cheerfulness as she took her notes. Her nervous fingers played with the ties on her ugly uniform betraying her real emotions.

Charlie thought it was ironic that he was probably the only person in a few hundred feet that knew she was actually upset. Usually Bill was the more sensitive of the two of them when it came to other's feelings. Still, Charlie didn't know why she was troubled, and frankly didn't care. He wasn't going to bother worrying about it.

"Like I've been sleeping on a bed of roses." Rumbled Bill good-naturedly.

"Yes, well I'm told that those can get quite prickly." She tried to be playful and made small talk with Bill for a minute, but Charlie could see right through her. No matter how hard she tried, Stella would always be a terrible liar.

He gritted his teeth and avoided looking at her until she left, but couldn't help staring at the door behind her.

"What happened with you two?"

Charlie groaned. He should have known that Bill would figure out that something was going on. You couldn't be such a popular guy without learning a thing or two about reading peoples' moods.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He folded his arms.

"Come off it. You wouldn't look at so much as her shoelace, and she skipped around being worried about you showing up late here and trying not to let on."

"She was worried?"

"Oh, my idiot brother." Bill smirked. "I forget that you aren't wise in the ways of women. Remember how she was going on about asking you if that bird made it on time?"

"Yeah."

"She was worried, trust me."

"It doesn't matter. I don't want anything to do with her."

"Why? I mean, the girl isn't Fleur or anything, but she would look particularly shagable if I weren't almost a married man." Said Bill with his trademark roving grin.

"She lied to me. Been lying from the start." He muttered sourly.

"Care to tell me what about?" His brother looked at him like he was thick.

"She was in Slytherin."

Bill raised a nearly hairless eyebrow. "So?"

"So? So!" Charlie exploded.

Bill just sat there quizzically, like he was waiting for the punch line on a joke.

"They aren't the nicest people on earth, but you're acting like her school house is the crime of the century. What's wrong with you Charlie?"

"Merlin! You are probably the only person in the world who knows all the crap they pulled on me, and you go defending them?"

"Merlin yourself, man! I never thought that my own brother would be a bigot." Bill looked perturbed and Charlie felt childishly guilty. He didn't like to upset Bill at the best of times, and now his brother was sick. But still, a bigot?

"I am not!"

"Then why are you lumping thousands of people into one narrow-minded little mold, you twit? You seemed to get along well enough with all my girlfriends who were in Slytherin. Gretta, Kristine, Meghan McCormack…" He counted them off on his fingers. "Addie Moon, Kala …"

"That girl had the nicest pair of …"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point, oh high and mighty lady's man?"

"The point is before I went out, you two seemed to really be hitting it off."

"I didn't … it wasn't like that."

"Whatever, little bro. Now she won't even look at you. Why are you being such a git about this? Is the house she was in at school seven years ago really important enough to lose a … well, at least a friend over?"

"Yes! No. I don't know!"

"Well if you don't know, then why are you doing it?" He asked with a frustrated sigh.

Charlie didn't want to answer that question, not even to himself. He didn't say a word.

Bill just grinned at him stupidly and laid a thin hand on his. "Talk to her, huh? She did help me out, after all. I'd hate for you to piss her off and wake up one morning with poison in my tea cause you're being a prat."

He had to laugh.

"Are you sure her sense of humor hasn't rubbed off on you somehow?"

**.ψ.**

Bill soon escaped from St. Mungo's, but this unfortunately meant that Stella was a frequent visitor at the burrow. It wasn't bad enough that Charlie had to see her at every mind-numbingly dull meeting for the Order.

Oh no.

That would be too easy.

The very next day after Bill got out, who should pop out of their fireplace during breakfast but Myra blooming Estrella herself?

And she was hard to get rid of too. Not only did she check on Bill every time she came, she also had to chat with Mum and Fleur about the wedding, only a fortnight away and approaching at full speed like the Hogwarts Express. Now that Bill was obviously on his way to a happy recovery, Mrs. Weasley was not half as hard on her as she had been at first. The next day, Mr. Weasley roped her into a three hour discussion on motorcycles, throughout which she shoot Charlie dirty looks. (He still hadn't untransfigured her bike.)

To top it all off, she quickly made friends with Gin, Ronnie, and Hermione. The four of them often holed up in an upper room on meeting days with a chess board, a couple piles of very smelly old books, and Tonks to keep them company. Ron said she was a pretty good chess player. Even Harry eventually warmed up to her, grudgingly saying that she had some pretty good ideas about tactics and a helpful library.

Only the twins and most of the order members still were suspicious of her. Much good that did.

Charlie himself still didn't know how he felt about her, and consequently avoided her as much as possible. Bill might have had a point about his attitude, but Charlie wasn't going to admit it anytime soon. Not until he knew where he stood with her, at least.

Sadly, the rest of the world did not share in his plans.

Four days before the wedding, the burrow was in what Harry called 'Defcon 5'. It sounded suitably sinister. The house was filled with mad women running mad errands and trying to store rented garden chairs in Charlie's bed, so when his mother sent him out on an errand he had almost been relieved. It would have been a perfect day for flying if he hadn't been headed to Stella's flat.

When he knocked on the door, he was treated to an all too familiar picture.

"Charlie Weasley, Sir!" The dowdy house elf grinned in quiet, badly concealed delight. "I is so happy to see you!"

"It's nice to see you too, Bimby." He smiled back. She was a nice enough little thing once you got used to her.

Quex was slightly less thrilled to see him.

The bloody snake tried to knock him out for the third time in days, but for once did not succeed.

"Bad snake! Bad!" The house elf howled like a battle cry, wielding a broom three times her height and chasing the winged creature off down one of the many obscure hallways. "Bad snake!"

As Charlie followed Bimby's directions down to the basement to find Stella, he heard several distant but very satisfying thwacking sounds.

Yes, he was definitely fond of that elf.

The basement was dark and murky, and his only guide to Stella was the sound of rock music. By the time he discovered the door it was coming from, he wondered why the muggle neighbors weren't calling the Aurors, or what ever muggles called when there was a disturbance.

Still, it was catchy –if unfamiliar- music with a solid driving beat and some very tricky keyboard work. The only musical talent Charlie had ever fostered was his brief stint in a young boys' choir to please his mum, but having Donaghan Tremlett for a best mate in school had taught him a little about judging good rock music. He paused to listen for a moment before going in.

…_Oh, forget the view we've seen. Clear away the cobwebs, boy, and step out of my dreams. Now its my monopoly, so pick up the get out free, and please proceed to read: Get out of Hell. Ohhh, baby get out of hell, woah yeah…_

The vocalist was quite good, but he needed to get back to Bill in an hour or so and didn't want to deal with Stella any longer than he had to. He knocked forcefully on the door, but there was no reply. Finally he opened it and stepped inside just in time to interrupt Stella and a small group of girls in the middle of their music.

Stella was so surprised that he thought she might have dropped her guitar if it hadn't been strapped to her.

"Charlie!" His amplified name echoed around the room.

Every last one of them turned to look at him like he'd just grown a fifth limb smack dob in the middle of his forehead.

Once the shock of a random bloke appearing in their midst wore off, several of the fine ladies were rather indignant. There were multiple rude comments at his expense from the members he did know, including Tonks and Jaci Jetter. Stasia Mackay even called him a gormless plonker and said several choice things about his performance in bed. How would she know? They had only dated for a few months back in his third year, and he'd certainly never gotten her anywhere near the boy's dorms.

It was a moot point. Stella quickly pulled herself together and ushered everyone else out, saying that it had been a good rehearsal and didn't Stasia have that appointment to get to? Charlie almost felt grateful.

Once they were alone, it was a different story.

"What do you want?" She rounded on him upstairs in the still unfinished kitchen, hands on her hips.

"Mum sent me for Bill's pain potion." He replied awkwardly. It was strange to be alone with her, especially now that he didn't know how he felt about her. She was still rather pretty, and …. Well, maybe Bill was right after all.

"Oh. Right." She fumbled around in the cupboards for a while without success. "It doesn't look like I have any here. If you can wait a few minutes, I'll floo Mungo's. Prudence down in apothecary still owes me a few favors."

She grabbed a bit of floo, called out her destination, and got down on hands and knees to put her head through the flames. While she was occupied, Charlie took a rare opportunity to admire her bum. It was really quite a nice bum, all told, though he was more of a breast man himself. Her conversation ended all too soon in his opinion.

"It'll be about ten minutes. Thank Circe for Prudence, the girl's a lifesaver."

Then awkwardness returned with a vengeance. Every word they spoke seemed as forced and stiff as a starched handkerchief.

"Uh … want some tea, Charlie?"

"Sure."

Stella made tea, but was soon interrupted by Bimby. The tiny elf vigorously defended her right to prepare the sustenance, and Stella was once again relegated back to the table and a lack of conversation. After a minute or so, it was clear that it was up to Charlie to salvage some sort of dialogue.

He did still find her attractive, after all, and it struck him just then that he really never had known as much as he thought he did about her. He would never have guessed, for instance, that she was musically inclined. It was very surreal to find out that something you thought was so black and white could be so complex, like waking up from a strange dream and finding yourself still in it.

Maybe it was still worth a shot to get to know her. Some of Bill's old flirts from Slytherin hadn't been so bad. Maybe it was stupid to judge someone.

Maybe was the key word.

"So … Stella … you play guitar?"

"Yeah." Apparently he was going to have to try harder if he wanted her to talk to him again.

"You guys are pretty good."

"Thanks." She grunted, still not impressed.

"I didn't recognize the song you were playing when I came in. Whose is it?"

"Ours."

"Really? Who writes?"

"Me and Moira."

"Pretty good for a garage band."

"We have our brilliant streaks." She said with a tiny smile. Gorgeous, he was finally getting somewhere! "We actually used to be kind of well known, locally anyroads. It only lasted a couple of summers, but it was fun."

"I never would have figured you for a musician, Stella."

"Well, I never would have figured you for a biased blonk, but we all have our bouts of shortsightedness don't we? There's a lot you don't know about me, Charlie Weasley." She sounded a bit upset, but there wasn't enough heat behind her insults to make him worry.

"Guess I deserved that."

"Guess so."

They spent the remaining ten minutes in silence with their tea, desperately not looking at one another. After what seemed like eons, a cheerful, round-faced young witch appeared in the green fire and handed Stella the desired vials with precise directions on dosages. When she was satisfied that both of them knew what they were doing, she disappeared with a pop.

Stella was happy to show him to the door, but halted as she began to close it behind him.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean what you said? About liking our stuff?" If he hadn't known better, he would have said she was afraid to hear his reaction.

"Yeah. I did." He smiled warmly, the same genuine smile that he had given Bimby earlier.

Stella smiled softly back at him. "We're doing a little gig tomorrow night, opening for some old friends downtown. I don't suppose you'd be free?"

"You mean a chance to get out of wedding world? I wouldn't miss it!"

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Authoress's Notes:** Anyroad is a British term equivalent to anyway. A fortnight means two weeks, and is used very commonly in the UK, unlike the US, where it is a very old fashioned word.

The musical snipit is a bit of shameless self insertion, as it is one of my very own bits of music. It is something of a baby of mine, as I'm not the greatest at hot tempo rock music yet, so please bear with if you don't think it was very good. You should hear the guitar part before you judge.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Possum(12)- **Thanks. I wasn't sure if I had put too many details in or not. I didn't want to weigh the chapter down, but I wanted a bit more depth too. Glad too hear that you like the Bond bit. What did Mad-eye do to piss off Harry? That is an amusing secret for another chapter… I am the queen of cliffhangers, muahaha!

**HarryPotterMagic(12)-** What's wrong with Bill? Gottcha! Nothing is wrong with him, except the fact that he has a moron for a brother sometimes. We can work on that though. Silly Charlie still hasn't realized that he is hurting her, or figured out that somebody's feelings besides his matter, but again, we can work on this. It may take some painful training, but maybe he'll come round by the end of the story, no? Your jazz nights remind me of my high school days. (Feels nostalgic.) It's only been a year, but high school seems like it happened ages ago. Savor it while you can!

**Fenix(12)-** Yeah, I meant breathe, but it is a pain to go back and edit for just a few words here and there. Thanks for pointing it out, point for you. Again, I must agree with your conclusion about dear Chuck's mental capacities. On the bright side, it is monumentally hilarious to try to write from a blockheaded boy's perspective on events. Stella might just get that chance to knock sense into him … or maybe she'll knock it into him some other way … we shall see. You like Ronnie? I thought it was a stroke of genius myself. Your squirrelly questions shall all be answered … in due time. Its no fun if you find out right away, is it?

**Evil Punk Rocker(2)-** Welcome to the review family! It is wonderful to meet you. Have a scone! (Just don't accept any from the twins or their associates) Thanks for all your kind compliments; they really light up my day. I'm glad you like Stella and that you enjoy my twists on her character. If you liked the surprises so far, I think you'll love the real whammy that's fast approaching.


	11. Hellespont and Hen’s Teeth

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Eleven: Hellespont and Hen's Teeth **

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie woke the next day to the pitiful crow of his mother's newest rooster. From his window on the fourth floor, he could barely see the skinny, pubescent animal through the morning fog.

"I hope this clears up for the wedding." He muttered as he climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. "Mum's gonna have kittens if all her plans get rained out. Fleur will probably just toss her hair and try to glare the weather gods into submission."

Personally, he thought that the weather gods would be on the loosing end of that particular fight.

Bill snored on in the bunk above him as he tried to wade through the sea of garden chairs that had been stashed (despite Charlie's many objections) in their childhood bedroom. It was a taxing trek though hostile territory, but the inviting clatter of pots and pans was drifting up the stairwell. His stomach growled happily in anticipation.

The kitchen had to be his favorite room in the house, save the library. It was warm and well scrubbed and tidy; In a word, perfect. All those years of helping his mum with dinner had made cooking come as easy as breathing, and he was almost as at home here as he was flying with the dragons at Wallachia.

"Mornin Charlie!" Ginny beamed at him as he stumbled sleepily through the door.

How could anyone be that happy at this hour?

"Good morning, Sweetheart." Said Mrs. Weasley from somewhere inside the pantry. "Would you be a dear and go out to the coop for me?"

"Sure thing." He yawned and ducked outside to collect eggs.

When he returned with his pilfered booty, one of the hens clucked reproachfully at him from her perch on the window sill. Jemima was the ancient matriarch of his mother's flock, and she'd had it out for him since the day he took over the chore of collecting eggs nearly twenty years ago. The moth-eaten bird could hold a grudge longer than any dragon he'd ever met, and that was saying something.

In the dragon keeping community, it was a well established fact that their charges had very, _very_ long memories. (Some keepers learned that the hard way, himself included.)

Most people just assumed that dragons were just dangerous and stupid, but it was a myth. Many dragons were highly intelligent, even cunning in their pursuit of a desired end. The only problem was that the object of their pursuit was generally food, making it hard to persuade the average chap the beautiful creatures weren't just a bunch of overgrown, blood thirsty snakes with wings.

Back inside, he almost dropped his fragile basket when confronted with a sight that might easily be confused with a blood thirsty dragon.

"Alright," he thought to himself as he set down the eggs, "So Fleur's not exactly blood-thirsty … but she doesn't really look all that friendly either."

She was just as pretty as ever now that Bill was out of the hospital, but when Fleur trudged into the cheery kitchen with rumpled hair and squinting eyes she was rarely in a reasonable mood. (That was assuming Fleur was ever in a reasonable mood…) Unlike the Weasley women, Miss Delacour was not used to early mornings and it was no secret that she was very put out about not being able to wake up next to Bill while they were staying at the burrow.

He wasn't awake enough to tangle with a cranky Frenchwoman, so he was very quiet about frying up some eggs and kippers. If they weren't careful, she'd wake up too quickly and realize what she was being fed.

Ginny wasn't feeling nearly as charitable. The minute the startling blond tripped into the kitchen, pots and pans began to clank together loud enough to outdo the family ghoul's machinations with the plumbing.

Charlie sighed inwardly. He and Bill were probably Gin's favorite brothers, and she –unlike their mother- had not yet forgiven Fleur for trying to take him away.

By the time the food was on the table, it was plain that Gin was going to get her wish. Fleur was starting to blink and had stopped yawning so much. This was not a good sign. He braced himself for the worst.

"What?" Fleur groggily exclaimed. "What is zis?"

She had a kipper pinched between the tips of two fingers by its tail, and an expression on her face that screamed of ingesting a shovelful of dragon dung.

"Kipper." Ginny pointed out with her mouth half full.

"Do you theenk zat I am goeeng to eeat zis … leetle feesh? 'Ow disgusting! Do you truly eeat zeeze tings?"

She delicately scrunched up her nose and tossed the tasty kipper away as though it would bite her; Crookshanks sauntered into the kitchen just in time to attack. Fleur excused herself from the table with little of her usual grace and proceeded to brew some of her expensive French tea (he personally thought the stuff tasted like dirt). By the time Ronnie's girlfriend clambered into the kitchen and scooped up her kneezle, Fleur was guzzling the nasty stuff down like there was no tomorrow in an effort to rid herself of 'zee leetle feesh'.

Ginny finished her breakfast and went back to the dishes, muttering darkly under her breath. He caught growls that sounded suspiciously like 'Phlegm' and 'giant squid'.

He was gladly distracted when Errol came fluttering in with the morning paper, missing the table by a yard and diving into the floor. Errol was old and nearly as moth-eaten as Jemima, but Charlie loved him. He was the closest thing he'd ever had to a pet of his own.

He was, however, not the brightest flame in the fireplace.

Charlie picked up the dilapidated bird and dusted him off, checking for injuries more out of habit than out of concern. Once Errol had been revived, petted, and fed, Charlie turned his attention to the Prophet in order to avoid the palpable female tension in the room.

Half of the front page was take up with the headline 'Death Eaters Strike Again! Azkaban Attacked!'.

In years past, the photo of the dark mark glittering madly in the night sky above the wizarding prison would have sent the whole world squealing in terror. It would still do that for some, he supposed, but the recent months had been so saturated with escapes and treachery and killing that it would have seemed a bit odd to find a cheerful article glaring back at him.

He scanned the story halfheartedly, picking out random phrases like '…Walden Macnair, now at large…' '…three prison guards, their families in shock…' '…Bellatrix Lestrange sighted…' and '…heroic recapture of Lucius Malfoy…' He was glad that the git who'd given his baby sister that evil diary was still where he belonged, but other than that Charlie couldn't seem to summon up much emotion about what he was reading.

Two new security decrees had been passed by the ministry, the Wizengamot was convening about the unforgivable curses again, Scrimgeour had held another press meeting (feeding the media his usual cock and bull). He continued to browse numbly, absently noting the disappearance of two important shareholders from an international potions company and the obituary of a woman from Aylesbury named Betty Bulstrode.

He read on rather unaffected by the death and mayhem and the stories grew more mundane. It was sad, but he had about the same reaction to the account of Mrs. Bulstrode's untimely end as he did to Madame Pillsman's weekly recipe – leg of lamb, incidentally. You could only hear about the murders and abductions for so long before they all seemed to blend together.

The only article that stood out for him was a tiny, three-paragraph affair near the back about Wallachia and its program cutbacks. Though the war had barely begun to touch the shores of Europe, funding that would have usually supported the reserve and the breeding facilities was in short supply, and the International Confederacy of Keepers had decided to temporarily bar incoming and outgoing positions. A friend who worked for the London branch of the ICK had warned him about this when he'd submitted his resignation, told him that he'd be facing the odds of a Hufflepuff in a Hybridian maze if he wanted to get back in.

He, in typical Charlie Weasley fashion, hadn't listened.

Something snapped inside him while he stared at the cold, hard lettering on the page and realized that one stupid, impulsive choice had cost him his most desperate ambitions. Those few insignificant sentences on the second to last page of the newspaper were more relevant than a thousand obituaries could have ever been. He knew it sounded callous, but it was the truth.

He would never walk back through those rusty gates or smile up at the neglected sign that read 'Welcome to Wallachia!'. He would never see his friends again, never see … Oh Merlin! He would never see his dragons again! Never feel the Carpathian wind at his back as he monitored the herd movements, never see the world bathed in moonlight while flying over the nesting grounds, never again know that crazy mixture of fear and triumph when he was the only keeper a dragon would permit near enough to feel the steam of its breath. Now his reason for living was gone as quickly as that steam.

Charlie knew that he would not fall over dead or anything so stupidly overdramatic, but Wallachia held a piece of his soul that he could not retrieve. A small, sensible voice in his head knew that he would find another job and continue on with the business of living. He might even find some way to keep working with dragons. It made perfect, if reluctantly accepted, sense.

But it would never be Wallachia.

If worst came to worst, he could always just continue on at Gringots. The pay wasn't exactly a king's random, but it might be enough to get a little flat of his own somewhere on Diagon Alley. And it _did_ involve dragons, just not the way he would have liked it to.

The thirty four dragons that belonged to the wizarding bank were just that – belongings, property of the company. They weren't mistreated, in fact they were all a bit spoiled, but they weren't given the freedom or respect that should be due to any wild animal. They were expected to be watchdogs, to guard their vaults and be content with their mail-order deer carcasses and their brief, strictly scheduled appointments to be walked and flown by the feeders. No one should have to live that way.

Of course, no one should be subjected to early morning bouts of wedding discussions either, but he couldn't do much about that.

"Are you sure about zee flowers, Geeni?" Fleur pointed out the window, indicating Gin and Mum's prize rosebushes.

Ginny had been so upset when their mother had offered up the fragile blooms as sacrifices for the wedding bouquet that she had actually gotten her way for once. Now the rescued bushes were merely set to act as a backdrop for the expensive trellis Fleur was importing for the ceremony.

"What's wrong with my roses?" There was a low, dangerous undertone of insult in her question.

"Eet ez zee weather, per'aps. So … wet." The word rolled off her lips with a distinct air of distaste. "_Alors!_ Ez eet always so wet 'ere?

"What's wrong with my roses?" Gin was going to start spitting nails soon.

"Eet ez no'zing. Zay are so soggee zough… Zay look, how do you say … un'appy… to see me."

"What a surprise." She replied serenely.

"What deed you say?"

"Is it so strange to think that something on this whole bloody earth might not enjoy your presence? Cause it is possible you know." Gin retorted calmly.

Fleur looked like someone had just informed her that Crookshanks was the king of France.

Unfortunately, the silence did not last long.

"Well zen, eef you do not like me so much, you will not want to be een my wedding, oui?"

"Fine! It's a stupid wedding anyway!" Ginny stomped out of the kitchen.

"_Bien_! Hermione will look beautiful een your dress!" The angry bride shouted after her.

"Good!" Came a yell from down the hall.

Ronnie's excitable girlfriend looked pretty perturbed about the whole situation.

"Oh no." She eyed Fleur flatly. "Don't even try it. I'm not going to go along with this."

"Why not? Eet ez a beautiful dress. I will make your 'air look wonderful. Zen leetle Ronald, he will not be able to 'elp 'imself."

"Well, he seems to fancy me just the way I am, thank you, and you should apologize." She said sternly.

"What zee 'ell? I will not!"

"Oh, just apologize to her, you twit!" Hermione threw up her hands and followed Gin out of the room.

"_Quand les poules auront des dents_!" She yelled after the bushy-haired girl.

"Huh?" He blurted out before he stopped to think.

"Eet means 'when cheekens will grow teeth'!" Fleur growled and rounded on him, eyes flashing.

He was immediately overcome by the powerful hazy feeling that he had never in his life seen something so beautiful. It took a minute for him to regain his senses, and he made a mental note to warn Bill about this before the happy couple had their first lover's spat.

"Charlee? 'Allo?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He could feel his cheeks heating. "Sorry about that."

She sighed and twiddled gracefully with a bit of her long blond hair. "No, Charlee, I am sorry. I should 'ave been more careful. My emoshons, zey do zat sometimes when I do not watch zem." Her face grew hard and she stared out the kitchen door. "Eet ez not so easy as zey theenk!"

Neither one of them knew what to say after that, so Charlie picked at the tablecloth and Fleur brewed herself another foul cup of tea. He had never thought about how hard it must be for her sometimes. He felt a brief pang of sympathy, but it only lasted until her next outburst.

"Charlie, you like zee wedding plans, yes?"

For once the crazy girl actually seemed insecure about her ideas, so he did the right thing and nodded.

"Oh, bien! I knew zey were just being silly. Zee flowers, zey will be magnificent, yes? And zee dresses …" He'd heard this at least a thousand times, and started to tune her out when he heard something unexpected.

"… And Myra, she 'as promised to sing for a few of zee songs. Eet ez so exciting, no?"

"You've heard her sing?" His ears perked up like a krup homing in on a rat.

"Of course! 'aven't you? She ez your friend, no?"

"Yeah … Er, I'm going to see her band tonight …" He had forgotten about that. Well, at least he'd get out of the house and away from all the mad women…

"You're coming with us Charlie?" Ginny reentered the room, pointedly ignoring Fleur.

"I guess so. I didn't know she invited anybody else." Charlie replied. Maybe she was just trying to be friends again. He had held out a tiny, secret hope that she had asked him as a date, but it was obviously not the case.

"Oh, Tonks told us about it. Harry and me thought we'd go."

Fleur, who was busy ignoring Ginny, pounced on her opportunity to get into the conversation. "Eet is a, how do you say 'hot' club, zee 'ellespont. What are you goeeng to wear, Charlee?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

**.ψ.**

Apparently, there was more involved in this clothing business that Charlie had thought.

Fleur had been scandalized that he didn't know what he was going to wear, and Ginny had just smiled at him – one of those knowing female smiles that makes a bloke feel like he's still three years old. They'd both fought to take charge of dressing him and Charlie soon had a good idea of how a piece of meat feels when two dragons both want it. After a thorough ransacking of his closet, it was decided that he didn't own a single presentable garment, and that he had no choice but to go shopping.

And he really didn't – have a choice that is.

Unfortunately, both of them seemed to think that Stella fancied him and that he needed to 'look sexy'. Merlin, it was just plain awkward to hear his little sister apply those words to him. Three uncomfortable hours and twelve shops later, Charlie had mysteriously managed to acquire a maroon button down shirt and an unusually tight pair of black jeans. (Fleur made a comment in French when he came out of the dressing room wearing them, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it had to do with his bum.)

Despite the fact that all three of the girls proclaimed this new outfit 'dead sexy' -even reasonable Hermione! - the clothes made him nervous. He'd never worn anything like this in his life, blissfully content with the patched jeans and second hand robes his mum picked up for him on sale. But there he was, making his way through the neon signs of Covent Garden wearing a designer shirt that cost more than he made in a month, running his fingers through his styled hair –the top inch or so was blond now, thanks to Fleur-, and looking like one of those idiots who posed for Madame Malkin's Ads.

"Why am I doing this again?" He wondered for the thousandth time.

Gin and Harry were waiting impatiently under a small glowing sign with a golden torch and the words CLUB HELLESPONT in elegant lettering. He vouched for them as underagers at the door with a heavyset man who seemed to be the keeper of the keys for the place. Then again, the bloke could have been anyone. Charlie had never been to a club that admitted both wizards and muggles alike, so the security was bound to be a little odd.

Once inside, Harry quickly swept Gin away to the dance floor with a grin that was a touch roguish for Charlie's taste. He liked the kid and all, but this was his little sister. Still, they could probably take care of themselves… He would have to try to trust her judgment.

The club was pitch black and smoky and the only real lights were the spotlights on the platform stage. It was about what he'd been expecting. Back when he was in his second year of keeper training, Donag had joined the Weird Sisters and started inviting him to their London gigs, so Charlie was pretty familiar with wizarding night clubs. This place didn't have half the usual bells and whistles, but then again even the most oblivious muggle would find something strange about posters that could talk back to you or a bar that served steaming, bright green liquor. The only familiar bit of magic that he could pick out was the low glow of the golden torches that lit the lower level of the club.

Then again, he wasn't really there for the ambiance…

He took a seat at the bar under a massive pair of golden ram's horns and ordered a firewhiskey to pass the time. Thankfully he didn't have long to wait. A few minutes later, a band called 'Deck of Cards' was announced to open for the Weird Sisters. Charlie felt his breath catch in his throat as Stella and the group of girls from the basement made their way to the stage.

The music was pretty good, if he did say so himself. He could pick out a mix of other people's songs, some muggle stuff that he didn't recognize, and a few that had to be their own work. It was a little lighter rock than what he was used to with the Weird Sisters, but he could tell that they were definitely talented - when he could keep his mind on the music long enough to judge, that is. Somehow he found that it was often distracted by the sight of Stella. She was really into it, putting energy behind every chord. He could see the sweat glistening on her forehead, trickling behind her ear and into her funny little hairnet. The fact that the girl didn't even take the thing of for a rock concert struck him as richly bizarre. He'd have to tease her about that some day.

It was also a bit strange to see the rest of the girls in the band in this atypical light. Who would have ever guessed that sweet, quiet little Jaci Jetter would be such a gutsy bass player? Or ever believed that someone would let Tonks with in a hundred kilometers of anything musical, for that matter. Honestly, Tonks? Charlie spent half the night expecting her to topple over and go sprawling through the bass drum, but against all the odds she was a damn good drummer; nearly as good as Orsi, and that really said something!

Moira Herman was almost as big a shock as Tonks. He'd never had a clue, never would have guessed that hard, indifferent Fish-eye was hiding the soul of a passionate lead vocalist. The instant her boots hit the stage, he could have sworn she was replaced with a living, breathing, warm-blooded twin. If it hadn't been for the fact that Stella hadn't sung in anything more than a backup capacity and he hadn't been able to make out much of it, he would have said the performance was perfect. True, only Tonks and Moira had any spectacular amount of talent, but he really wasn't paying attention to trivial details by then.

When the girls finished their last number, Donaghan and the rest of the blokes were soon on stage in all their grungy, ripped-robe-glory and were greeted by thunderous applause. But for the first time, Charlie was too preoccupied to cheer for his old mates. His thoughts rested solely with the short witch headed his way. Her eyes were shining and a strand of hair was plastered to her forehead by all the sweat. Merlin, why did she have to be so pretty?

"Charlie! You made it! I wasn't sure if you'd come." She had a grin the size of a Cheshire cat.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." He said wholeheartedly. "I was a little surprised to see you opening for them though. They're your 'old friends'?"

"Yeah, I knew some of them back at school, and I stood up in Bresa's wedding. Besides, I told you I don't believe in all of that 'let us worship the celebrities' cack."

"Hate to tell you this Stella, but none of the guys are named Bresa. Gotta say, it'd be fun to tease 'em about it though."

"No, you dolt, Bresa." She pointed to the girl with the auburn hair who had been working the sound board for Deck of Cards. "Stasia's sister. She and Donaghan tied the knot last summer, didn't you know?"

"Oh. No, I didn't."

"I thought you two were friends, I mean you were inseparable at Hogwarts, weren't you?"

"We had a … falling out … a few years back. I've kind of avoided him lately." Charlie said sadly. He was glad when the barkeeper interrupted them.

"What'll it be, miss?"

"Water, please."

"Just water?" Charlie asked. "Come on, tonight's on me."

He knew that sounded too much like a bloke hitting on a girl, but he spoke before he had time to think. And besides, he really did want to make up for how he had reacted the other day. After some thought and some cooling down, he had decided that even though he still didn't like the fact that she'd been in Slytherin, he could at least try to look past that and see his friend. If only he could stop seeing her as more than a friend…

"I don't know, Charlie. I really don't drink much."

"Honestly, order whatever you like."

"Weeeell, maybe just this once. Alright, make it a butterbeer. Tonight's a celebration."

"I'll have another firewiskey while you're at it." Charlie added, then turned back to Stella. "What are you celebrating? Other than a spectacular performance?"

"First of all, I wouldn't exactly call that 'spectacular', and if you must know, I'm celebrating the new campaign for the Order."

"What campaign?"

"Membership," she waved her hand dismissively in the air, "It's a long story, and it's not really that important. Oh, I love this song!"

They listened for a moment.

"Hey Charlie … doyouwannadance?" She mumbled quickly, turning a bit red.

"I'm a terrible dancer." He'd taken ballroom dance lessons to please his Mum for nearly six years, but he couldn't dance to this to save his soul.

"Probably for the best. I'd break your toes if I tried." She laughed.

"'Ere you are, miss. An' thas yours." The bartender returned with their drinks.

"_Gracias_." Stella smiled sweetly at the man, and Charlie felt a strange urge to hit him as he went off to another customer.

The urge faded over several hours (and several more rounds of booze). At first things were a bit awkward, but the conversation slowly turned to music and a long discussion about the policies of the order. They avoided talking about anything that might upset the other for quite some time, but eventually the accumulated butterbeers and her natural lack of tact lead Stella to open her mouth.

"Charlie?" He thought she sounded a bit drunk, but then again he may have had a bit too much himself.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you come tonight?"

"To see you, Stella. Why else?" She hadn't once told him not to call her that, not once all night! She hadn't called him _gatito_, either. Had she forgiven him or not?

"Well, for a while you were so angry at me and now everything's just daisies and roses again?" She huffed. "You can't just wave a wand over things like that, Charlie."

"We _are_ magical, girl. That's generally how we solve problems." He whispered playfully in her ear.

"Charlie." Her tone was a warning bell.

"Well how am I supposed to make it better?"

"An apology might help, don't you think?" She said coldly.

"You're right. I _am_ sorry, Stella. I … I … it's a long story."

"I never helped them, you know."

"Who?"

"Those morons who were always on your case."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry about them."

"I'm sorry, I should have known."

"I think we've both established that we're sorry, gatito." She giggled unsteadily.

"Yeah, guess so. Stella?"

"Hmm?"

"You have pretty eyes."

She snorted.

Bugger! Where had that come from? Alright, he knew where it came from, but it wasn't supposed to come out of his mouth!

Oh bugger, bugger, bugger, buggeration!

"You have pretty eyes too Charlie." She smiled at him. "And you know, I'm glad that I'm not the only one who dressed up for tonight."

"You like this? I feel like an idiot." He confided in her.

"That makes two of us."

"You? Why? You look beautiful."

And she did. Stella looked like a little slice of heaven a blue skirt to her knees and a black, ripped up top that hugged her body much closer than her usual baggy jeans and embroidered robes. He would have given quite a lot to be able to touch her.

"Well, you're drunk. That kind of nullifies your opinions right now." She laughed and wobbled on her stool.

"I'm not drunk. And besides, even a drunk man can point out pretty when he sees it."

"You're very sweet, Charlie, but drunk people have this odd propensity to see things that aren't real. Besides, things aren't always what they seem, even when everybody is sober." The last sentence came out with a hint of bitterness and he remembered that she had said the same thing to Lupin.

"I mean it!" The words just slipped out.

"No you don't, you silly ass. You're just piss drunk and trying to hit on me."

"No I'm not!" Not that he wouldn't have liked to. Was he that transparent? Bugger!

"You … you're not?" She looked at me uncertainly.

"No. I wouldn't do that to you!" He was praying that there was still enough sobriety in him somewhere to make this sound believable.

"Oh. I see." Charlie caught glimpses of her cheeks growing red as the strobe light flickered. Was she blushing? Could she …?

"Of … of course you wouldn't. I must have had one too many butterbeers."

He knew he would hate himself in the morning for this, but Merlin, she looked so good

"Unless you wanted me to …" He struggled for the most confident (hopefully dashing) grin he could manage under the circumstances, and tucked the stray hair behind her ear.

She didn't protest, so Charlie did the next logical thing.

He leaned in to kiss her.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Hellespont is a place in Greek mythology. More on that later. Covent Garden is a district of London. Cack is basically another word for shit. ICK is my own acronym. I was pretty proud of that one, myself.

And yes, Crookshanks really is the king of France. All hail the king!

Next chapter is obviously the wedding, but I'll be nice and maybe let you in on what happens after Charlie goes for it. Do you think I should tell you? Looking ahead to chapter 13, we'll get down to the turning point of the story. Big questions will start to get answered, Charlie might stop being quite so stupid all the time, and there will be bloodshed! That chapter is when the whole story really gets going (the whole story shouldn't be more than twenty five chapters or so.) Ironically, and I swear I didn't plan this, thirteen is my favorite number (and my b-day, Friday the 13th rocks!) so the fact that one of the craziest chapters happens to be ch. 13 is sheer hilarity.

Oh, and no one said that Charlie is going to stop being an idiot just because Stella was understanding this time. She might not be the next time around…

**Possum-** Yeah, she has a band, although if you asked her she would tell you that it's Moira's band but that's a story for another day … Did you like guitarist Stella? I don't want anyone to get the impression that she's a mary sue, even if she does have an unknown talent. (I'll let you in on an upcoming secret and say that she does only a couple of things really well and is pretty helpless otherwise … much humor abounds from that) Action at the wedding? Emphatically yes, though it may or may not be the sort you are hoping for…

**Aqua Fairy-** Welcome, new reviewer! Thanks for all your kind reviews, you have to be one of the most enthusiastic sounding reviewers I've met. I hope that this chapter is worth the wait.

**Fenix-** loved hearing from you, as always. How could I not? Your sense of humor makes me smile. Yes, yay for Charlie not being so stoopid, though we may or may not be out of that proverbial woods just yet… Yes, Tonks is in the band. Hard to believe, but true. It does seem OOC on the face of it, but don't worry, we will see more than our share of Tonks clumsiness as things proceed, and besides, everyone has something surprising about them, most of us just don't show it. No, I can't blame you for trying. You never know, sometimes I'm feeling generous and I give out hints to the questions asked. (Don'tcha just love dictatorial power?)

**HarryPotterMagic-** I'm glad you got the joke. I was rather pleased with that bit myself. Now if only he could figure out how to explain what he's thinking to her and get himself slapped … we'd all be falling out of our chairs and dying of laughter. Poor guy, all these people reading this story just waiting for him to make the next wrong move… oh well. As for high school, I can relate. I hated saying goodbye to my friends and my choir and my music director, but Chemistry I can do without. (Course I have to take an even harder one in collage… bugger!)


	12. Cadha’te Seòl

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twelve: Cadha'te Seòl**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I set out on a narrow way many years ago  
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road  
But I got lost a time or two  
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through  
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you_

_Every long lost dream lead me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true  
That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you_

_-'Bless the Broken Road', Rascal Flatts_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Her mouth sticky with butterbeer.

He tried to be very careful and gentle about it, though his mind seemed a bit fuzzy and he knew he was fumbling the soft pressure on her lips. She didn't pull away, which he was infinitely grateful for, but she didn't do anything else either. She was dead still and stiff as a board sitting there on the stool. He had no idea what to think of it, except that it was very nice to kiss a girl again.

Wallachia was rather short on Homo sapiens of the female variety and Charlie hadn't had a steady girlfriend since taking a position there. At any other time thoughts of his fresh grief would have been painful, but at the moment he was far too wrapped up in the chaste, brief kiss to acknowledge it.

His thoughts were far from dragons and broomsticks as their lips broke apart. Stella stared at him for a moment, then nervously studied the ground.

'Did she like it or not? Why did I do that in the first place?' He wondered. 'Well I know why I did it, but why did I go through with it? Idiot, Charlie, complete idiot!'

"I, uh … I should be getting back … See ya Charlie." And with that she ran off.

Not another word, just 'see ya Charlie' and that was that.

He watched her locate Tonks and Lupin and a very drunk girl who looked a lot like Stasia and Bresa. After a few minutes they left, and he spent the rest of the night waiting for Harry and Ginny to get tired of dancing.

'Just brilliant, Charlie!'

**.ψ.**

It was the night before the wedding and Harry Potter sat in the open window, absently watching Crookshanks hunt the Weasley's garden gnomes.

"I wonder if I'll ever get to see the damn cat catch one." He muttered thoughtfully and realized that the idea of dying wasn't as scary as it used to be.

I mean, he wasn't going to go and throw himself in front of the Knight Bus or anything so stupid, but sometimes he still woke up from dreams about that room in the Department of Mysteries. Dreams about the whispers, and the strange things Luna still said about it when her father stopped by the burrow. He still had no idea if he should take her seriously or not –it might end up being another case of Luna being Luna-, but something told him that she might be right. What if they were all really waiting for him, just on the other side?

Still, the idea that he might never sit in this window again, never feel mothered by Mrs. Weasley or get to kiss Ginny one last time was kinda sad.

And besides, if he didn't leave tomorrow night the world was effectively fucked.

Not to say that it wasn't fucked even if he did go.

What did he know about saving mankind? It wasn't exactly a subject on the Hogwarts curriculum. Wasn't the hero supposed to be confident and daring? Didn't the bloke who rode in and saved the day always have a plan? He definitely didn't feel like a hero.

Whose bloody idea was this, anyway? Did some moron just wake up one day and decide, 'hey, let's make Harry Potter savior of the world!'?

If he ever laid hands on the wanker, the two of them were going to have a friendly 'chat'.

His murderous plans were put on hold when Myra stumbled into the room with a massive stack of notebooks and folders. She dropped the heavy load and started to light the lamps before she noticed that he was in the room.

"Oh, hey kid. Didn't see you there." She sat down and started to sort out her papers.

"Hi Myra. What's that?"

"Hmm? Uh, research … bunch of bumf from work, test results, that sort of thing. Boring stuff, kid. I think the General's gonna have to find a new chess partner tonight. I'm swamped."

Why the hell did she keep calling him 'kid'? It made him feel like he was five years old. Alright, so Mad-Eye Moody called him 'boy' and 'sonny' a lot, but Mad-Eye did that to lots of people. And besides, he respected Moody. Harry didn't know exactly how he felt about Myra Estrella, but respect probably wasn't a good word for it.

It wasn't that he didn't like her, precisely. After they both got over their less than friendly first introduction, she was actually pretty nice. She smiled a lot, made a much better chess partner for Ron than him or Hermione (even if she did loose most of the matches anyway) and she was dead useful when it came to books about Voldermort and horcruxes. A nagging voice in the back of his head wondered why she had books about stuff like that, but he ignored it for the most part. Besides, she was Tonks' sister. The only real problem with Myra was that he just didn't know her, and she didn't know him, and he didn't have the time or the energy to spend getting to know someone while trying to save the fucking world.

Ron and Hermione trickled in soon enough, then Tonks, and finally Ginny. He turned away from the window and turned his thoughts away from tomorrow when that beautiful witch patted the loveseat next to her. Ron sat down on the floor and started explaining the pieces to Tonks (the pieces did some of the explaining themselves) while Hermione grabbed a book and settled into the armchair behind his head.

"So … the horsey makes an L shape? What a stupid idea! Who came up with that?"

"It's not a horsey, it's a knight."

"Look's like a horse to me."

"It's a knight."

"Ahh! It bit me! The bloody chess piece just bit me!"

"Well that's what you get for insulting them. They're a temperamental lot, they are." Ron said sagely.

Ginny clambered over and snuggled into Harry's lap. He smiled and hugged her close while they watched Ron pry the knight off Tonks's finger and for a little while he forgot all about saving the world and just enjoyed the way she felt when she was in his arms.

They spent a couple hours up there wasting time and watching Ron run circles around their green haired friend on the chess board. She muttered and cursed and made ugly faces at her pieces. One of the bishops actually fell over in shock when she morphed to look like an angry vulture. It seemed like she would never catch on until she jumped up in the middle of a game.

"Ha ha! I did it!" Tonks crowed and did a wild little dance of jubilee around the battered coffee table.

Tonks being Tonks, she quickly tripped on the rug and fell out of sight with a thud that rattled the windows.

"King me." Came a grunt from somewhere under the peeling leather sofa.

"King you? What are you talking about?" Ron looked confused.

"That's checkers, Nyms." Said Myra from behind a progress report.

"Bugger." The sofa moaned in defeat. "Ron Weasley, you are the worst chess teacher I've ever met."

"I don't think it has anything to do with the General, Nyms."

"Myra!" Ginny tried to look scandalized for her friend's sake, but Harry could feel her shoulders shaking against his chest from trying not to laugh. "That's not nice!"

"Ah, but it's true!" Said Myra with a grin, finally looking up from her books and quill.

"I resent that!" Said the sofa. "You are a mean person, Myra."

"What're you talking about? I'm sweet and kind hearted and filled with good will for my fellow man!" Myra smiled and batted her eyes stupidly. Even if her jokes were really morbid most of the time, she was still pretty funny.

Tonks dragged herself out from under the sofa. "You're full of something all right."

"Like I said, good will for my fellow man. And I'm delicate and gentle and charming too."

"You're about as charming as a warthog, Myra. You're so charming that the rest of the warthogs kicked you out of polite warthog society."

"And modest. Did I mention modest?"

Tonks chucked a pillow at Myra. Myra tossed it back and hit him and Ginny instead.

"Sorry, I've got a terrible aim. What are you… Ginny, put that pillow down!"

Soon it was all out pillow warfare. Harry had to admit that even he was smiling by the time they called truce and flopped down on the floor. While everyone was still catching their breaths, Myra got up and rustled around in her bag. She came back after a minute with a couple of books and a serious look on her face.

"Right. I know we've been avoiding this all night, but we all know what's gonna happen after the wedding." Harry could feel the smile slip right off his face. Had she told someone? Was Remus going to try to stop them or something? Damn it, they never should have trusted her!

"Oh don't look at me like that, guys. I'm not gonna give you a pep talk!" She tried to make a joke. "I just thought there were a few things you oughta have."

He was still skeptical, but maybe she had something they could use. Merlin, he hated hearing himself think about people like pawns on Ron's board, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious.

"Fenton's History of Warfare." Ron turned the pages of the book she handed him. "Wait, is this a muggle book? I don't get it."

"Well General, if you want to lead troops, you should know your military tactics. That bastard certainly isn't going to fight inside black and white squares." Myra never called Voldermort anything except 'that bastard'. It was almost as annoying as her calling him 'kid' all the time.

"What, you think I'm going to get people to listen to me? Even if I wanted to 'lead troops', why would anyone follow me? Not saying I want to, mind you."

"You're a good tactician, Ron. If you can figure out how to get off the chessboard and into the real world with that, you'll save a lot of lives when Harry goes after that bastard. I don't go calling you General for no reason."

"I'll think about that." Ron looked a little pale, but he had a firm set to his jaw that said he was determined too. That quickly changed when he went back to the book. "Hey, muggles really _do _go after each other with pointy sticks? Brilliant! Fred and George'd love this!" Ron stared at the unmoving cartoons of little knights on horses.

Ginny snorted at her brother and paged through 'A Beginner's Guide to Real World Acting Techniques'. He personally didn't think she needed it, since she could already fool her mother when she wanted to, but Gin looked pleased and that was enough for him.

"This one's for you, Hermione." Myra handed her a really dusty, foul old book, just the sort of thing that made 'Mione go nuts. (He was never going to figure out women.)

"The Seven Branches … by Bridget Wenlock." Hermione traced the title like it was something blessed by the pope.

Myra must not have caught on that she liked it. "It's not really much use for catching that bastard, but I thought you might…"

She got cut off when suddenly attacked by a squealing mass of hair. "OhMyGodMyra! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Arithmancy is my favorite subject! This is Bridget Wenlock! OhMyGod!" He couldn't help smiling just a little when he remembered his own experience on the end of one of these attacks.

Myra finally pried Hermione off her throat. "Glad you like it." She sputtered. "Thought you might want something for your downtime. Well, something besides making out with Ron, that is."

Silence struck the room. His two best friends turned beet red and wouldn't look at each other. Tonks and Ginny were silently laughing. Harry was torn between the two.

It took Myra a minute to catch on, and then she started to stutter some apology. Hermione cut her off saying she had to get to bed and rushing out of the room and Ron ran out on her heels.

"Hey Ginny, wanna follow them?" Tonks asked his girlfriend with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Duh!"

And that was how he ended up alone in the room with Myra.

"Uh … right."

"So … you um, you were pretty quiet tonight kid."

"So were you." Harry snapped, instantly on edge. He did not want to talk about tomorrow, not with her, not with anyone. What, did she think he was going to break down and confess his deepest fears to some stranger?

"I had notes to look over. Nother batch of my test subjects bit the dust, and I still don't know why. On top of that, I've got to sing at the wedding tomorrow and I barely know all the lyrics to the songs…" She started to ramble, obviously not catching on that he wasn't in the bloody mood for this bung.

"And I'm off to save the fucking world. What else is new?"

"Oh. Right." She laughed nervously. "I really gotta start thinking before I say this stuff, don't I?"

"You might try that." He growled. "It's not really a good idea to piss off the bloke with the wand, especially when he's trying to figure out how to kill off Voldermort."

Myra wasn't fazed by his tetchiness. "Well, when Ginny told me about your plan, she said that Dumbledore told you to go back to your family, right? The man was missing a few of his marbles, but he was still pretty quick. I'd say you might find something there."

"Of course. The clues to the biggest secret in wizarding are just bound to be hiding out in the shrubbery on Privet Drive. Stupid me."

She rolled her eyes. "It was just an idea, kid."

"I don't want to go back. They aren't my family, they're just my relatives."

She nodded and said nothing, and he kept talking before he could stop himself.

"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just put up with me because … I don't even know why they put up with me. Every time they see me I get the happy sensation that they're looking at cow dung. My real family is right here, damn it!"

Why was he telling her this all of a sudden?. If she was anyone else, he knew that he wouldn't have but... There was a sense of … sameness … that he couldn't quite pin down and didn't really want to think about. There was something about her that seemed … familiar. Impossible, he was just tired.

"Its up to you kid." She said after a while. "But either way, I thought you might like these."

She handed him a little canvas bag. He opened it and found a few crumpled gray feathers.

"Buto feathers. They're kind of hard to come by so be careful when you use them, but if any of you ever get hurt and need a healer all you have to do is touch one, repeat the incantation, and say my name."

"What's the incantation?"

"Cadha'te Seòl."

"Cad-"

"Not while you're touching them now, you lump! You'll waste them."

"Right." He put the feathers back in the bag. They did sound useful. "That doesn't sound like any incantation I've ever heard."

"I guess it wouldn't, would it? It's really old magic, really powerful. You don't even need a wand." That sounded like something Dumbledore told him about once. "The story behind it is pretty neat, really. Back when history was just beginning, there was a belief that every human being had a path, a 'Cadha', that they walked down in life. The old ones believed that when they used this kind of magic, they were leading or calling another person's path to intersect with their own. They named that calling Seòl, and they believed it was something very sacred."

"Oh." Well, that was weird. What was he supposed to say to that? What did he care what those loony old nutters thought about 'life paths' and 'sacredness'?

"Personally I think its all rubbish, but it does make a nice story."

Myra wasn't so bad after all.

"Look kid, I gotta get to bed, but if you ever need someone to talk to … well, I spose you'd rather talk to your friends, but sometimes its nice to have a blunt opinion once in a while." She looked at him, then stood up and grinned. "Ahh, I don't know what I'm talking about. Goodnight, kid."

"Night."

Maybe he would do that someday.

**.ψ.**

Noise from a waiting crowd in the back garden filtered up through the window where you could see a nearly cloudless sky. The sound of a cello warbled among the voices. Merton Graves was a good man to know for a wedding.

Five young men were gathered in a cramped bedroom to see off one of their own. Five young men, come together one last time as free spirited bachelors to celebrate the memories of their childhood. Five young men bravely pushing off from shore and into uncharted waters.

Five young men, where six should have stood.

Charlie felt the loss of Percy the most deeply. Percy had always been his favorite little brother, with his strict morals and deep philosophical thoughts. The bloke was stubborn to a fault though. Brave enough to leave home for what he believed, but too proud to admit it when he was wrong.

Yes, Charlie wished Perce was there with them.

But he had more important things to think about now, namely getting Bill into his dress robes without snagging anything on his scars. It was hard to do with the twins teasing him like mad.

"What, Floo-Floo wouldn't let you wear your jewelry?" George cackled.

"No, no earrings for Billy." Fred agreed. "But if you ask nicely, we could shine up your head with some cauldron cleaner."

"Yeah! Then you'd still be nice and sparkly." Ron chimed in.

"Stop moving, Bill, or this thing's gonna rip." Bill growled; whether at him or at the twins or at Ronnie, Charlie had no idea. Bill seemed to growl a lot more since waking up.

"No, keep moving Bill. We all know how much you want to take your vows starkers."

"Does Floo-Floo know about your embarrassing little birthmark yet?"

There was more growling from somewhere inside the dress robes. "When I get back from the honeymoon, you three are dead."

"Did you hear that, George? I think he just threatened us."

"Rubbish, rubbish. Floo-Floo wouldn't let him touch 'a 'air on our preecious 'eads', now would she, Ron?"

"I don't know about you two, but Fleur adores me." Ronnie had grown very overconfident about all women's opinions of him since he'd started dating that Hermione girl. "Bill'd be sleeping in the broom cupboard if he offed me after I rescued her pet peacock from Crookshanks, but you two? I don't think she's ever forgiven you for those 'U-No-Poo's' you put in her pudding."

"We were only testing to make sure that our quality products preformed on wizards and witches with highly magical, non-wizarding ancestry. Research you see."

"Yes, tragically unavoidable … But it was pretty damn funny to see her turn green when we let slip that we-"

"You gave my fiancé constipation tablets? That's it; I'm not waiting for the honeymoon. You two are dead as of now."

Somehow, by miracle or magic, Fred and George managed to survive long enough to see the ceremony.

It was a very nice ceremony, from what Charlie knew of these kinds of things. Everything in sight was very pink, but the flowers were pretty and Merton was still the most talented cellist he'd ever heard.

He glanced over at the girls on the other side of the trellis. Even they were decked out in pink. Ginny (who had been reinstated in the wedding party after mum forced her to apologize) still looked a bit sulky when ever Bill wasn't looking, and he caught her muttering something about red heads and clashing. Nearer to him was Vanessa, Fleur's maid of honor and his dance partner. She smiled vapidly in his direction and murmured something he assumed was very suggestive in French, since Bill's ears turned red and he shot a glace at Charlie.

Fleur had once claimed to work at Gringots with Bill to improve her 'Engleesh'. Obviously, the lingual training had gone both ways in that relationship.

When the bride walked down the isle (and after he found the inner strength to stop staring at her), Charlie felt an immense swelling of pride in his chest. He looked at Bill, and was proud of his strength. He felt his brothers at his back, and was proud; of the twin's inventiveness, of Ronnie's determination and loyalty. He caught his father's eyes and saw the same sort of sentiment reflected back. Mrs. Weasley was, of course, crying sweet tears of joy. Charlie himself almost felt a tear or two considering their escape routes.

As the guests started to file past the bride and groom to wish them good luck, Charlie spotted Stella. She had her arm around a sniffling Professor Sprout of all people, and they seemed to be discussing the service. The events of that night in Club Hellespont came rushing back to him and regret settled heavily in his gut. Why had he gone so far so fast?

He knew that it was stupid, but he was determined to at least talk to her once tonight. She'd been avoiding him for days, and he wanted to at least attempt to explain himself. Would she understand if he just said he was drunk? Maybe that would work…

**.ψ.**

Throughout the afternoon feast, Charlie looked high and low for Stella but came up empty handed. In fact the first glimpse of her he caught was as she climbed up on the band platform the twins had set up by the frog pond. Fleur had mentioned earlier that she was going to sing the first song of the evening.

The sun had just set, and under the twinkling lights of the stars and the fairy decorations, he could have sworn he was looking at another woman. She'd changed clothes since the ceremony, and now wore a billowy blue robe and little tinkling earrings. Her hair was even out of that bloody hairnet. It was still pinned up around her head, but it was definitely an improvement. She really was something.

Suddenly he noticed a distinct lack of chatter. While he'd been mooning over Stella, Bill and Fleur had walked out onto the dance floor. Charlie was very curious by now to hear her sing.

All in all, it wasn't bad.

She wasn't spectacular by any means, but she wasn't going to break anyone's eardrums either. And there was a deep, mellow quality to her voice that resonated with him. About halfway into the song, Charlie found himself a bit caught up in listening to the unfamiliar tune.

"_I think about the years I spent just passing through … I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you_ …"

She smiled down at the happy couple as they held each other closely; twirling around the parquet dance floor like the rest of the world no longer existed.

"_But you just smile and take my hand … You've been there you understand … It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true…_"

The song was ironically appropriate. Fleur and Bill had been through so much together, had been so strong to stay together despite all the excuses they'd both had to leave. Both families had looked down on the match. Fleur had been chased by unwanted suitors all the while they were dating. Bill had been on the brink of death, and would never walk without a limp or be able to stand the sight of a full moon without sprouting a thick mat of fur.

But somehow they had made it.

"_Every long lost dream lead me to where you are…"_

Charlie wondered quietly if he would ever have that kind of devotion for someone else. Would he ever be willing to do what Fleur had done, sitting by Bill's bedside for weeks, holding his hand, not knowing if he would come back to her? Thinking of the crying he heard every night from her room at the flat made him wonder if he would even want something like that. An emotion that strong was almost a frightening thing, but still … Would he ever love someone that desperately? He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"_Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars … Pointing me on my way into your loving arms…"_

It might be nice to have someone though. Someone to depend on, to talk to and to kiss and to… well, he was a man after all. It might be nice not to be alone.

And he couldn't get Stella out of his head. Merlin, the way she looked tonight…. But it wasn't like he wanted to marry the girl. He just couldn't stop thinking about her. They weren't even on speaking terms, for Circe's sake!

"_This much I know is true … That God blessed the broken road … that led me straight to you."_

Cheerful applause broke out –more for Bill and Fleur than for Stella- and she quietly slipped off the stage as couples began to take to the dance floor. Vanessa looked at him with an expectant smile and he dutifully steered her away from the table to do the same. As he spun her around mechanically, all his thoughts were focused on a warm, hot coco smile.

He looked for Stella out of the corner of his eye for what seemed like hours, and finally saw her talking with a tall, broad shouldered boy about Ronnie's age. He disentangled himself from his blond partner and went over before Stella could get away. By the time she spotted him, it was too late.

"Stella, could I talk to you?"

"I'm in the middle of a conversation right now, Charlie." She wouldn't look at him, but her tone implied that he was embarrassing her.

She wasn't getting off that easy. He was going to get this over with, one way or another. "I need to talk to you."

"You said that." She sighed. "Neville, have you met Charlie Weasley? I'm afraid he's being rather rude right now, but he's usually not this bad."

"You're Ron's brother, right? I think we might have met at the Triwizard Tournament." Charlie fuzzily remembered a much rounder, shorter boy named Neville tagging along after Hermione at one point.

"Yeah, I think I remember."

"Lovely. Now that we all know each other, you can go away and let us get back to what we were talking about." He had to smile, just a little. Even when she was trying really hard to act polite, the Stella he knew, the real Stella under the act, wasn't the most tactful person in the world.

"Actually … I um, I have to get going …" The kid named Neville stammered. Charlie gave him an appreciative grin, but that just seemed to make him leave faster.

"I want to talk to you."

"Oh, fine! Talk then! Just try not to lie this time, alright?"

"What? When have I ever lied to you?"

"You said you couldn't dance!" She looked away again.

"That's not a lie. I can't."

"Well, then I must be blind, cause I'm pretty sure that's what you were doing with Fleur Delacour no. 2 out there for the past hour."

"That's completely different."

"Oh really? I fail to see how that doesn't constitute lying on your part." Was she … jealous?

"Well first of all, what I meant to say at the Hellespont was that I can't dance like that … you know, club music."

"Listen, Charlie … about the club … I um, I …"

"I'm sorry." This was it. She was going to pull out the 'lets just be friends line'.

"You're what?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have … erm … you know … I'm sorry." Bugger. He'd completely lost this.

For some reason, Stella just threw back her head and laughed. Several people nearby actually turned and stared at her.

"What's so funny about that?" He huffed. This was not going well at all.

"You have nothing to be sorry about gatito." She smiled at him, really smiled, for the first time in days.

It dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, she didn't mind the kiss after all. "Then why were you avoiding me?"

"I figured you were just drunk and you didn't mean to well … you know …"

"Kiss you?"

"Yeah."

"Was it that bad a kiss?"

"I said you have nothing to be sorry for, didn't I? You just surprised me." Her eyes lost their sparkle when she saw something over his shoulder. "I think your girlfriend wants a word with you, Charlie."

"My what?

"The French clone." She pointed to Vanessa.

"She is definitely not my girlfriend. Say, I don't suppose you want to dance?"

"Just as long as you don't mind getting stepped on. I was serious about that whole breaking people's toes thing. It's happened before."

"I think I'll chance it."

She was right about one thing. He got stepped on a lot that night. It wasn't quite the sweeping off her feet that Charlie would have liked to have done, but at least the conversation was interesting.

"You sounded nice tonight."

"Thanks. I wish Moira could have done it instead, though. She's the real talent between us."

"What are you talking about? You sounded great." Alright, he was exaggerating a bit. She was good, but that was about it. Still, it couldn't hurt to stroke her ego… He relaxed one hand around her waist and let if fall to her bum.

It was a very nice bum, after all.

And she wasn't exactly objecting either.

"If I tell you once I'll tell you a thousand times, gatito. Flattery will get you no where." A tiny grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Whatever you say Stella."

"Don't call me that."

Just then, Tonks and Mr. Lupin danced their way. Perhaps dance was a bad word for what they were doing, since Mr. Lupin wasn't very coordinated and Tonks reminded him of a wounded elephant charging around the dance floor. Remus Lupin looked a little more tired and grey than usual because of the approaching full moon, and Tonks had fairly mundane hair for once, black and curly and flowing down her back. He imagined that Stella's hair might look something like that if she ever let it down. Tonks's robes were made of thousands of little colored, silky patches all sewn together, and he supposed she might have been quite pretty, in a punk rocker sort of way-

-If she hadn't opened her mouth, that was.

"Hello Myra, having fun? And Charlie, you rogue, you finally went in for the kill! Do you have any idea how much some of the girls have been betting on you two? Stasia's gonna be mad as hell when she sees you dancing. She put twenty quid on you hooking up two weeks ago."

Stella looked as shocked as he felt. Tonks continued on without missing a beat.

"If I were you, I'd get out of the line of fire. Preferably somewhere dark and private where you can go at it like nifflers."

If he thought that he and Stella were embarrassed, the color of Mr. Lupin's face would have proved them pale by comparison.

"There's no need to blush, Lulu." Tonks smiled at the older man fondly. "It was only a joke. Besides, it's not like we've never-"

"Dora!" Lupin cut her off, sounding strangled.

"I wish you'd call me Tonks, Lulu. Dora's sounds so girly."

"Now Nyms, I think Dora is a lovely name." Said Stella with a grin.

"And I think we'll leave you to the seductive schemes of Charlie Weasley. You'd be doing humanity a kindness if you find someway of shutting her mouth, Charlie."

"Hey, that's not fair, Nyms. You've got just as big a mouth as I do!"

"Yeah, but that's why I've got Remus." Tonks returned Stella's wicked grin.

"Dora!"

Tonks sighed and put on an affected air as they shuffled back into the crowd. "Merlin's earwax, how did I ever end up with such a prude?"

Stella turned almost as red as Lupin had, and Charlie finally let out his pent up snickering.

"It's not funny!"

"It's not that. I just realized for the first time that there might actually be someone else on earth with less tact than you. I gotta tell you, _that's_ pretty hilarious."

"I do so have tact!" She cried, sounding very much like a petulant toddler.

"No you don't. What about that time you told Stanislav to stick his broom where the sun doesn't shine? Or the time you said that you told Murphy's mother that her son had the pedigree of a-"

"I didn't know it was his mother."

"But you see my point."

She grumbled something rude under her breath and pouted. "It's still not funny."

He could feel hope and daring broil inside him as inspiration struck. "No, maybe its not."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Well, the look on Mrs. Murphy's face was brilliant, but maybe Tonks was right about that broom closet."

He pulled her a little closer. "Maybe I'll seduce you into one."

Her expression changed from curiosity to suspicion. He rushed on before his sensible side could catch up and stop him from doing this.

"Would you object if I did?"

Her brows drew together and she thought for what seemed like hours. He felt slightly nauseous. What if she really didn't think of him as more than a friend? She had admitted to not minding the kiss, but did she just say that so as not to hurt his feelings?

Just when he wasn't expecting it, she pulled his head down and kissed him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Later that night, they found themselves back at Stella's flat watching a very strange 'telly' program called Monty Python and eating carrot sticks. (Stella informed him that carrots were very good for you.) She laughed a lot at jokes he didn't understand, but there was a bit about two women killing off a parrot that reminded him of Errol. When it was over, they talked for sometime about all sorts of things.

"So … Where was Moira anyway? I've saw the rest of your band there, but you said she couldn't make it."

"First of all, it isn't my band. If it's anybody's band, it's Moi's. And secondly, she's got back to back shifts at Mungo's. They've been working her ragged lately."

That was a bad topic. He tried something else.

"Was that song something you wrote?"

"No. Muggle music. It's from the states, actually."

"And Fleur wanted it for her wedding song?" Well that was strange. It was hard to imagine high handled Fleur Delacour listening to muggle music.

Stella seemed to think so too, from the way she was grinning. "Yeah. Apparently she's a die hard fan of Rascal Flatts. Who would have ever guessed that little miss prim and proper went for country music?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** I just had to give Fleur a bit of personality, and I had the time of my life imagining her as a country music fan. Now I can seriously picture her in a cowboy had and boots (designer labels of course) listening to Faith Hill. I can't stop laughing. What did ya'll think of it?

In fact (while I know that it is a bit out of place in both England and France) I sort of pictured Fleur's ideal wedding as the wedding from the movie 'Steel Magnolias'. _"My flowers are blush and bashful, and I've got pink bunting draped over anything that will sit still long enough." _If you've never seen it, go rent it. RIGHT NOW! I adore that movie, even if it is a little outdated.

Ginny also has considerable acting ability (OP4, OP16, OP32 - able to convince Mrs. Weasley that Crookshanks was responsible for the Dungbombs outside the kitchen in Grimmauld Place; imitating Umbridge; the Garroting Gas scam). –Harry Potter Lexicon

Cadha: A narrow road or path. Seòl: to lead or guide, to call back, to recover. bumf: British-speak for copious amounts of paperwork or literature.

**Posum-** Hurray for you, my one and only reviewer on this last chapter. You are a gorgeous human being! Yes, horay indeed for Charlie's love life.


	13. Being Careful

My most sincere apologies to you all for the lateness of this chapter. I usually try to update at least once a week, but last weekend was midterms and the beginnings of Spring Break for my campus. I was very distracted, and I do hope that ya'll can understand my predicament.

As I did not have as much time as usual at my disposal this week, I was unable to complete the entirety of this chapter. However, I thought it would be rather cruel of me to deprive you two weeks running, so I shall post this in two parts. Again, I am dreadfully sorry, and can only beg for my darling readers to forgive me and review despite my unpardonable tardiness.

And a gigantic, Hagrid-sized hug for all of my faithful reviewers! Your comments keep me inspired!

Do enjoy the chapter-  
Color Me Gray

* * *

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Being Careful (Part One)**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

…_there's something about the hesitation in your step  
_

_something so beautiful and scared  
_

_and something hard about the truth that you accept_

_and still you find a savior there…_

_-'It Is Enough', The Waiting_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Stella's basement was big, shadowy, and full of band equipment. The window casings leaked when it rained, and the heater made such odd noises that Charlie wondered if the place was housing a ghoul. It reminded him of the compound back at Wallachia. Both had stone walls and both had so little furniture that it would have made a Spartan cry. In fact, the cot that he'd slept on for three years in Romania could have been picked up from the very same moldering flea market where she'd found her yellow tartan sofa.

It was very different from any room in the burrow, but after his first few hours there Charlie began to feel at home.

'Must be the company.' He figured, watching her laugh out of the corner of his eye.

After that night at the wedding, things just seemed to fall into an easy, comfortable pace between them. It was so different from the way he was used to dating girls that he felt a little nervous. It was almost too comfortable, almost surreal.

Instead of expensive restaurants that emptied his pockets and endless hours of nervous small talk, they spent nights curled up on her ugly sofa, tucked into the only corner of the basement that was free of guitars and drumsticks. These evenings had generally come to involve a small, dubious looking telly and a bowl of some sort of fresh vegetable (Stella was very fond of vegetables.) Sometimes they watched muggle news programs -little men and women in weird clothing that sat behind desks- or 'sit komms'.

Tonight it was a very strange kind of program called a 'kartoon'. 'Kartoons', Charlie decided, reminded him of the little doodle people he and Ronnie used to draw together. It was even odder than most of the telly programs, because it was strange to see something as familiar as moving drawings inside the strange box.

"I bet some idiot gave a muggle a bottle of enchanted ink." He thought out loud, trying to pay attention to the little people in the box and not to how distracting Stella's hair was. What would it look like if he could convince her to take it down?

"Charlie, you are a nutter." She just smiled, and he was glad that she couldn't hear his thoughts.

"So, um … why do they keep calling that thing a football?" He asked, trying to keep his mind away from the sort of things that Bill had gotten detentions for back at Hogwarts.

She gave him an odd look.

Yes, he was very glad she couldn't see inside his head right now.

"What? Just because I'm not exactly muggle literate doesn't mean I don't know SOME stuff. I know what football is." He said proudly. Ha, she wasn't the only one who knew about muggles!

The look on her face said that she still didn't believe him.

"I do! Carrie Kently, this girl I dated back in fifth year, she was muggle born and she had all these posters and clippings about football. She explained the whole thing to me once. It kinda sounds like fun, if you don't mind that there aren't any brooms involved." Stella made another face, but he went on. "The point is, footballs are black and white, not brown."

"You dated Carrie Kently?" She asked with a dangerous edge to her voice.

What was that for? She was glaring at him like he'd just pissed on the crown jewels. What on earth did he do to deserve…

Oh.

Bill's third rule of dating.

Never bring up an ex.

Bugger.

Charlie was going to have to talk to his brother and get a refresher course on this stuff. After nearly three years without seeing anyone seriously, he was as rusty as an old cauldron and had to fumble for something to say.

"Err, yeah. It was only a couple of months … uh, we were better friends than a couple, you know?"

"You still see her around then I take it." This was not going well.

"Uh, no, not really." Charlie was sweating oceans. This was like interrogation by the full Wizengamot!

Thankfully, he seemed to have said the right thing. Stella's looked mildly pacified and went back to watching the 'kartune'.

Women were so hard to predict! At least she wasn't as bad as most of the girls he'd dated. It was dead unnerving when someone who was usually so good-natured got so crabby at the drop of a hat, but she made up for it entirely by being a fairly decent kisser. And he'd quickly learned in the past few days that even if the bloody couch was ugly as a hag's backside, it was a lot more comfortable than a broom cupboard. Now he just had to get her mind off Carrie … especially if he expected to get around to snogging her tonight.

"So, um … about that little brown ball …" He pointed to the bald child in the telly who was being duped into falsely kicking the imposter football. "Why do they keep calling it a football?"

"This show is from the states. They have funny names for stuff." He could feel her relaxing against him. Brilliant, it was working!

"How'd you end up with telly things from over there?" He was a little curious, after all.

"Ted used to take me with him some summers, when he went on his lecture circuits in the US. I got into some American music and a couple of telly programs." The grin was returning to her face. "You should see what they try to pass off as 'chips' over there though. They're not chips at all! All the bags _say_ chips, but they're really _crisps_, and that was the most disappointing bag of crisps I've ever eaten in my life. I mean, I opened it up expecting to find some crazy sour cream and onion chips –even thought I didn't have the slightest idea how they were going to get that to happen- and all it was was a bunch of measly old crisps!"

"Sounds like a right catastrophe."

"Are you mocking me gatito?" She tried to hide a grin.

"I wouldn't dare."

"Well good. Just as long as we both understand."

"Mhm." He put an arm around her covertly. "So what does he do, anyway?"

"Ted? He's a historian. He's the one who got me hooked on history books. Didn't I ever tell you about that?"

Charlie shook his head and half listened while she started on about how Mr. Tonks gave her her first book on the Black Death.

"Hey Stella?"

"Don't call me that." She murmured, not really paying attention to him.

"Why do you always call him Ted?" He had never heard her call Ted Tonks anything except for 'Ted'. Not dad or da or daddy or even father, just Ted. If he was Tonks's dad, it would make sense that he was Stella's too, but …

She sighed and looked very tired all of a sudden. "It's kind of a long story, gatito. Very complicated and boring. You'd be asleep by the time I was done, I swear."

"Of course I wouldn't…"

"Don't Charlie." She cut him off sharply, then softened her tone a little. "I'm really not in the mood right now, alright?"

A trace of what might have been sadness whispered across her face, but it was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure. What was she on about?

"Alright." He agreed and tightened his arms around her. After a few minutes she still wasn't very relaxed.

"Stella?"

"Hmm." She grunted. "Let it be, Charlie! Drop the subject!"

"I wasn't planning on bringing it up."

Stella was peeved. "Wha'd you want then?"

"Well, I figured since you weren't in the mood for talking, you'd be in the mood for something else…" He tried to put on as devious a grin as he could manage.

"Something else? Wha… Oh geeze." She caught on. "You have a one track mind, you know that?"

Stella tried to look exasperated, but Charlie knew she would always be a terrible liar.

Besides, that same old grin was creeping back on her face too.

**.ψ.**

Sometime around three in the morning, Stella fell asleep. She felt so comfortable curled up in his lap, in his arms. Not to heavy or too light, just … comfortable. There was a sense of rightness to the whole thing that was almost disturbing.

But a very persuasive voice in his head reminded him how dead enjoyable it was to have a girlfriend again, especially a bird like Stella.

On the other hand, it scared him a little too, how easily he'd started thinking about her as his girlfriend. Come to think of it, they'd never really gotten around to defining exactly what they were. She certainly hadn't said anything on the subject. They had snogged a few times –much to Charlie's supreme delight- and spent a lot of time together lately, but neither of them had actually SAID anything about their relationship.

Then again, this whole train of thought was probably just him being a great berk. Stella admitted to liking snogging him, admitted to enjoying his company, after all. Shouldn't he just let it go at that?

At that moment, Charlie remembered something his dad had said to him once.

"Always ask before you assume, son. Remember, 'assume makes an ass out of you and me'. Good one to keep in mind, especially with the young ladies you know. Err, don't tell your mother I told you that …"

Charlie was going to have to think very hard about this before he said anything to Stella.

Even though he flew off the handle once in a while, Charlie knew that it was always better to think things through and be careful with what you said. It was the same as being careful not to be clumsy. When he was growing up, Charlie was the strongest and the biggest of his brothers by far -even though Bill was taller- so he'd learned to be careful not to accidentally knock people over or break the dishes. It had taken a long time for him to get good at it though, and a couple of his them still had little scars from because of his accidents, especially Fred and George since they were the most fun to wrestle with.

Each on of those almost invisible scars still made him feel guilty, and they drove home an important lesson every time he remembered them. You had to be careful, had to restrain yourself and think things through. If you didn't, people tended to get hurt.

And he definitely did not want to hurt Stella.

But he did want to know what she thought about all this…

Oh, why had he ever wanted to start dating again? Life would be so much simpler without all this frustration!

Yet Charlie had to admit that it was nice to be around her. When she wasn't being oversensitive about stupid things or telling him he should eat a more balanced diet, it was easy to relax with her and be himself. He couldn't say that about a lot of women. Bill and the twins were always much better with the opposite sex.

Those brothers were the outgoing ones in the family, the ones who understood girls. They liked parties and crowds and being the center of attention. They liked taking risks and pulling pranks to show off and be clever. Charlie would rather make a joke or pull a gag purely for the private fun of it. The only time he honestly enjoyed the spotlight was in Quidditch, where he knew that he really had something. Well, back when he used to have something anyways.

Other than that, he preferred his books and his dragons. Those were simple things, easy to understand. Life with books and dragons and careful thought went at a slower pace, and he was right happy just strolling along instead of running.

Unless it involved a broom, of course. Then speed was the best thing on earth.

It really was a shame that Stella refused to come near his broom.

It was a very nice broom, after all.

He was distracted from his circular thoughts when the girl in question shifted in his lap. He pulled the blanket back over her and watched her face by the light of the telly. She really was pretty.

And distracting.

Did he mention distracting?

Yep, her newest position was dead distracting. In fact, he was torn between moving her into a less distracting position and doing some distracting himself. Distracting her from sleeping namely. Possibly with a kiss. She might or might not like that, he reasoned, but it would definitely lessen the amount of her that was leaning on him and doing the initial distracting…

'Besides, if she doesn't hit me right away, she'll probably go along with it.' He thought.

And if he was very, very lucky, she might consent to some further distracting activities…

Just as his thoughts began to wander off into territory his mother would have been appalled by, a loud thump echoed above them.

Bloody snake!

He really was going to kill that thing if it woke her up. And low and behold, a series of loud crashes followed the thump and foiled all his imaginary plans. Stella shot up from his lap, half mumbling and half shouting "Down with the chocolate treacle!"

He felt a bit put out when she moved and all of the distraction went with her.

"Wha… Charlie?" She asked groggily.

"Down with the chocolate treacle?" He smiled.

"Oh," she blushed, "I, err … I was dreaming."

He had a good feeling that this would someday prove to be excellent teasing material, but didn't get the chance to push the question.

The basement door crashed open with a bang to reveal Bimby. "Miss Myra, there is visitors in the kitchen. And they is bleeding on Bimby's nice clean floor!"

Well, that sort of ruined the moment. Bugger!

"Visitors? Who's visiting at this hour of the … never mind. Come on Nana, let's go. I wouldn't want them to dirty up your floors."

He felt her tug the blanket off of them with a great pang of regret. It was colder than Boxing Day at Wallachia down here! That afghan was knobby and itchy and even uglier than Stella's choice in furniture, but it was a gift from Ronnie's girlfriend and therefore she insisted on using it. He knew that those two were sort of friends, but what that had to do with actually _using_ the bloody blanket was anybody's guess.

Women.

Charlie was so lost in thought while he traipsed after the white haired house elf and his short, wooly girlfriend (she had wrapped the itchy thing around herself) that it took a minute for the scene in the kitchen to register.

When it did, he was caught between shock and the outright urge to vomit.

There was blood everywhere.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** I lied when I said this chapter would be an important turning point. I know, I'm an evil, unfair person who doesn't deserve to see the light of day. Sorry. In my defense, I wanted to give them a little happiness and fluff before the next challenge comes their way. I also needed this chapter for several other reasons, none of which I can explain without giving away too much. I do hope that you –the collective reading body- can forgive me for my grave sins. (inserts sarcastic grin) In other news, What are the readers' opinions on Charlie's attitude about being careful?

Alright, before somebody goes and says it –and I know someone must be thinking it- Yes, Charlie Weasley is a bit of a hypocrite. He has this philosophy of thinking things through and being laid back and 'looking before leaping' if you will, but when it comes to real life he often speaks before he thinks. In fact, he can get quite heated about his beliefs without always thinking them through. He is actually pretty prone to being judgmental about some things –cough chough SLYTHERINS!- but he honestly doesn't realize it. In Charlie's defense though, most of the time he does appear to be a pretty easy going guy to the rest of the world. Quiet, thoughtful, a hard worker, a good friend. Charlie Weasley is a sturdy sort of guy who is still growing up and learning how to be more patient and more tolerant. He is an all around decent bloke who has the best of intentions; he just has a few rough edges. I mean, don't we all?

In americanesse, CRISPS are what an American would call potato chips while CHIPS are deep fried potato wedges, often served with beer battered fish. (That's called fish and chips, a dish I enjoy to an almost unhealthy level, especially with lots of malt vinegar) Tartan Plaid

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum-** I'm glad that somebody out there enjoys my harry. Well, he's not my harry, I suppose I must give credit where credit is due (bows down to JKR in sincere admiration) but he is my interpretation of the character, so I must be content with that. I let you in on a secret – I think I may bring him back once or twice more, just because his perspective is so much fun to write from. I like being able to bring out the testy, bad boy side that we all know is simmering under there somewhere. (grins)

You noticed Neville! You ought to be a sleuth, since you are so good at picking up on clues. I will let you in on another secret (my, I seem to be doing that a lot tonight) and tell you that you should be on the lookout for him in further chapters… Country and Western aren't the same thing? That's news to me. Granted, the most country/western music I've ever listened to was the summer where I volunteered on a dairy farm and the farmer really liked that style, so I'm no expert. Peacocks are more than meets the eye, you say? Maybe that says something about Fleur … or another character… (oh, the possibilities) You have pet peacocks? Brilliant! How did that happen?

**HarryPotterMagic-** Yes, it was about time. Charlie, you troll! It took you long enough! But alls well that ends well right? … well, maybe… I'm not much of a country fan, but I too am very fond of that song. I like it so much that I actually went out during spring break and bought the sheet music for it so I can learn it on my piano. Beautiful stuff.

I'm happy that that paragraph came off so well. It was one of the hardest for me to write, since in a way I feel a lot like Charlie on that subject right now. I really wanted to get it to come across right, and it sounds like I've got a medocrum of sucsess on my hands. Hooray! You cried? I feel so honored! I think that's the first time anyone has ever really been moved by my work. I'm going to have to celebrate with some cheesecake or something! (Stella and I have differing viewpoints on what the words 'healthy food' entail) No worries about missing a review. You do so much for my day every time you do send one! How did your play go, by the way? What was it?

**Aqua Fairy-** Yes, enthusiasm rocks! Never loose that. My chapters are great? I don't know about that, but you certainly keep me blushing with your compliments. –Stella is rolling her eyes right now and repeating "Flattery never works", but I'm not paying any attention to her- I like her as a guitarist too. In that respect, she's got a little of my own personality in her. We are both amatures, and neither of us is very good, but we both use music as our escape, our outlet when the world is getting a little too crazy. Yeah, I'm not sure Charlie was very fond of being called a 'rouge' in front of another guy, even if it was Mr. Lupin, but it was fun to write. Tonks and Lupin are probably one of my all time favorite couples to write dialogue for, they just crack me up! Yes, again, Fleur and country music make me giggle when I think about them.


	14. Being Careful, Part Two

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Being Careful (Part Two)**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

…_there's something about the hesitation in your step  
_

_something so beautiful and scared  
_

_and something hard about the truth that you accept_

_and still you find a savior there…_

_-'It Is Enough', The Waiting_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The kitchen was a quiet, sparse room with unfinished walls and a number of muggle appliances. There were only a few lights -electric lights, incidentally- illuminating the room, since it was very late. Outside, the night was dark and stormy and pissing down. Rain lashed at a large set of windows with vicious intensity. Further testimony to the wet state of the world in and around London could be found on the floor, as evidenced by the large puddles of water that were tinged with blood. The only furniture was a table and a few chairs where four teenagers were perched in varying states of injury.

Harry Potter, for his part, was in agony.

His head felt like a ticking bomb. It wasn't the sort of stabbing pain he could link with his scar acting up or peering into Voldermort's happier thoughts. He supposed he should probably be thankful for that, since that sort of pain could also mean snake-face was trying to get inside of _his_ head. There was enough on his plate without worrying about that, thank you very bloody much.

Especially after everything he'd just learned.

I mean, fuck! No wonder his skull was ready to burst like an overripe melon!

Aunt Petunia, the letters, Dumbledore's last message to him … he'd gotten questions answered last night –even some that he'd never dared to ask out loud- but now there were a thousand more. Why hadn't Aunt Petunia ever told him? Alright, he knew why. The woman hated him. But still! Dudley, his grandparents … His parents' graves for Christ's sake! And then there was the message…

Harry didn't know if he could follow through with Dumbledore's last request. It was almost as scary as the idea of facing Voldermort himself. But it wasn't like he hadn't done it before, right? Yes, he had done it before and now he would just have to do it again. Still, this was definitely the sort of thing that could make a bloke's skull split.

But he knew that it wasn't Dumbledore's letter or even his scar that made his head pound like a drum.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair and waited for the geriatric house elf to get back with Myra. That one had even more wrinkles than Kretcher himself! He wished they would hurry, and not just so that Hermione didn't bleed out and die on the cheap linoleum flooring. The sooner she got here, the sooner his friends' attentions would be fixed elsewhere. Only Gin knew about the headaches and it was going to stay that way. He couldn't let on to Ron and Hermione about this. They were depending on him. I mean, the whole bloody world was depending on him! Every second they bickered meant they had another chance to notice how hard it was for him to string two thoughts together.

And in his defense, Hermione wasn't exactly acting the way you'd expect someone with a bone sticking out of their leg to act. Course not. It would have been bloody un-Hermione-like.

"Harry, what do you think he meant? 'My demise was not unforeseen' Could it have been a prophecy? Or maybe he knew about Snape. It could have been that. Or maybe … hmm. Well, what do you think?" She rambled on like she was trying to solve an arithmancy problem or something, like she hadn't noticed how much of the blood on the floor was hers.

"I don't know." He said shortly. Why couldn't everyone shut up? Someone must've transplanted Dudley's dirt bike motor into the base of his skull while he was sleeping. He felt Ginny's hand tighten comfortingly in his own.

Ron was standing behind Hermione's chair with deep lines in his face that made him look a little like Aunt Marge's bulldog, Ripper, at his most protective, almost hoping from foot to foot with worry. "Are you mad woman? Your leg is almost half off, and all you can think about is that bloody letter! You've got to…"

"I don't _have_ to do anything, _Won-Won_." She cut him off with a glare. "I'm a big girl. I don't need you to tell me what to do!"

"But your…"

"I'm not in any kind of pain. Are you even listening to me? I've told you twice now; I can't feel a thing with this charm on it. Are you ever going to shut up?"

"Hey!"

Thankfully, Myra chose that moment to arrive. She stood there in the door just staring at them like they were aliens out of one of Dudley's comics, followed by Charlie of all people.

Harry definitely did NOT want to know why Charlie was here at this hour of the morning or why Myra was wrapped up in a blanket. It was one thing to think about Ginny and him … but Charlie? Myra was an even worse mental image. Harry could feel his cheeks heat just thinking about it, and this definitely did nothing for his head.

It really was a good thing that no one was paying much attention to him by that point. It only took Myra a few seconds to stop starring and stride across the room, pulling off her afghan and handing it to a still stunned Charlie. By the time she whipped out her stubby wand and knelt down by Hermione, she'd adopted a tone that was very down to business, even if she still had some sarcastic humor to dish out.

"Dios mio, Hermione. ¿Qué te ha pasado?" She pursed her lips and muttered with a more pronounced accent than usual, not looking up from the leg. She sounded like she was scolding a small child for scraping their knees.

"Huh?" Ron looked a bit dumbfounded.

"I asked her what happened to her." Myra grunted.

Not to be outdone, Hermione tried to answer back. "Mi pee-air-na … es … malo …" Ron was staring at her, and Myra glanced up with a mocking grin.

Hermione's cheeks got red. "Oh, fine! I think I've broken my leg. Happy now?"

"Really. I couldn't tell." Myra said dryly, still preoccupied with the leg. "Charlie, could you fetch me my spare kit? It's up in the third cabinet from the stove. Charlie? Charlie, the kit?"

"Oh, right." Charlie said dumbly, starting out of the daze he'd been in since they first saw him. "Third cabinet."

"Sometimes I wonder about you, gatito." She rolled her eyes. "And you know that's not what I meant, Hermione. Even if I wasn't a healer, that sharp looking bone poking through your skin is a bit of a give-away, don't you think?"

Hermione harrumphed, and Ron rushed to her rescue. (Harry heard Charlie making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a gag.)

"She doesn't have to tell you a thing." Ron said loudly and crossed his arms.

Oh, why couldn't everyone stop arguing? Harry's head was really going to explode soon.

"Since it is my kitchen you chose to apparate into in the wee hours of the morning, I think I've got some right to know."

Her fingers drifted across Hermione's leg while she talked. The bone began to wiggle back inside of the bleeding gash, making a very disgusting sucking noise as it went. Charlie stumbled over with a packing box full of feathers and vials of potion and bits of gauze. Harry thought he even spotted a bezoar.

"Mendus Dermus." Myra said forcefully, fluttering her wand over the ragged wound. "That will take a moment. While we wait, you can tell me how you came across this lovely bit of scar tissue."

"And what if we don't?" Ron was still miffed for Hermione's sake.

"Look kid, I wouldn't ask if I didn't need to know. I have to figure out if there's anything else that might affect the internal healing of the leg. Rate of cell regeneration and a thousand other things might change depending on how she got it, especially if it was by magical means. Not that your Aunt and Uncle sound like the type to keep restricted magical potions in their pantry Harry, but I have to ask." No wonder she'd been put in Slytherin. That one could probably even barter with Uncle Vernon himself!

The skin around the wound was starting to knit together. There was no other word for it but knitting. It looked almost exactly like what Hermione did with a pair of needles and a ball of yarn.

"Nothing magical involved, Myra. I fell off of Ron's broom. First, last, and only time I will ever get back on that death trap." She growled, giving Ron a dirty look. In Ron's defense, anyone could have lost their passenger under those circumstances. And he did look very repentant.

"I know exactly what you mean." Myra shot a grimace at Charlie. "Those things are a menace."

If the hour hadn't been so late and everyone hadn't been so completely shattered, there would have been a number of arguments against this theory.

"Right then. You next General."

"Gerroff! I'll be alright."

"Don't be a brick, you little muppet. I'm going to give you a once over if I have to pin you down myself. Don't make me embarrass you in front of your girlfriend." She was really too small for the threat to be effective in Harry's opinion, but Ron sat down never the less.

"This is unfriendly looking." She commented while wrapping his forehead in potion soaked gauze. "Did you get these divots in your head by falling off the broom too?"

"Umm… err … yeah."

"You're a worse liar than Charlie, General, and that's a feat of nature."

"Hey! I'm a much better liar than you!" Charlie piped up from the corner where he was filling an extra chair with his compact, blocky frame and, from the looks of it, trying not to sick.

"Whatever you say, gatito. What happened Ron?"

Harry's friend finally cracked under the pressure of her stare. "A dementor, OK? There was a dementor."

"Hmph. Nasty things. Have you had any chocolate? Charlie, where'd you put the chocolate?" That was it. No real shock or panic like Harry had expected. She took the news fairly matter of factly.

"Charlie, you didn't eat it all again, did you? I tell you once, I tell you a hundred times! The chocolate in my kit isn't candy! It's a medical supply! Oh, that's foul looking, that one. You're going to feel that in the morning. It take it that's not from the broom fall either." She pressed a large blueberry bruise that clung to Ron's ribs and the red-head winced.

"Err, no. Dementors again."

Myra looked up from packing Ron's side with smelly sludge and bandages like she'd just figured out that they were on dangerous missions. "Dementors? As in plural? How many dementors have you been up against, kid?"

"I didn't sit there counting them! Besides, Harry took on the brunt of it. I um, well …"

Ron didn't have to finish. Now Myra was staring Harry down instead. "Well? How many?"

"Err… I dunno," He tried to think, tried to make everyone shut up, looking at Gin and Hermione for help. His head was going to crack soon. "Twenty, you reckon?"

"Bollocks!" Ron howled. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry General, didn't mean to squeeze so hard. T … twenty you said?"

Myra had turned pale. She was not taking this so calmly anymore and suddenly looked a lot more adultish. He had a sinking feeling that she was going to start worrying over them and restricting them like the rest of the adults. This was the last thing he needed right now! On top of the fucking migraine, too! Next thing you know, she was going to hand him back to Remus on a silver platter.

Hermione, in her usual knowledgeable but dead unhelpful way, was trying to calm the other girl down. "No. There were only fourteen."

"Only fourteen." Myra repeated slowly.

"I just said that, didn't I?"

"ONLY fourteen? Fourteen dementors! Fourteen! Are you insane, or do you just have a death wish kid? How in the Hell did you even…" Myra had to really be upset to be broking that kind of language. "Charlie where is that chocolate?"

"Harry'll be alright." He heard Ginny speak up behind him with a touch of pride in her voice that he was rather flattered by. "His patronus was almost powerful enough to handle all of them by itself. Me and Hermione hardly had to lift a finger."

"I don't care how powerful you are, you've got to be experiencing some negative side effects from that many of those things. You lot have got to be more careful!" She had a look on her face that said she'd rather die than meet one. Come to think of it, he would rather die than get kissed too.

"I'm fine." He said shortly as Charlie dutifully stuffed chocolate into all of them. "Not a scratch on me. Ginny got hurt though."

"It's nothing." Said his girlfriend, clenching her jaw and looking a lot like Fred and George when they were determined.

"Let me see." Myra commanded. Gin reluctantly held out her arm.

"Oh, is that all?" The black-haired girl peered at some scratches. "Just little flesh wounds, nothing to worry about. We'll just clean them out and put on some ointment."

"That's it?" Ginny asked, relieved.

"Sure. You'll be right as rain in a few seconds. Gatito? Would you be a sweetie and help those two up to some rooms?"

"Sweetie?" Ron snickered under his breath as they left.

"Shut your gob, or I'll shut it for you."

"Sweetie!" Ron cackled until he started coughing. "Oh, my side!"

The door slammed behind them and Ginny let out a guilty breath before doing something he'd been praying she wouldn't do.

"Harry. Ouch!" She started, but winced at the wound cleaning potion. "Harry, you've got to tell her."

"No." Was the whole world conspiring to make the pain worse?

"What does he need to tell me?" Myra removed a jar of pink, hissing goo from her cardboard box.

"Ginny…"

"His head was hurting him."

"Not here. Later."

"No, Harry, you've got to tell someone about your head. If you don't trust Mr. Lupin enough anymore, at least talk to Myra. She's a healer, for Merlin's sake! This is what they do! She'll understand about the…"

"I said I'm fine." He was not going to tell anyone about this. Not even if it _did_ feel like his ears were going to start bleeding!

"Harry, I know I'm not you best friend or anything, but if she thinks it's this important, maybe you should tell me."

"I'm fine! I'm just fucking fine! Why won't you all just leave me alone?" He raged.

Ginny was getting frustrated, but Myra just examined him in a cold, calculating way that made him a little uneasy. "Ginny, would you mind giving us a minute?"

"Fine. I've had it for tonight." She stalked out of the room.

When the last trace of red hair had exited, she shoved a vial of dull orange liquid into his hands. "Drink this." It wasn't a request.

"What…"

"It's for your head." She sounded annoyed.

He did what she wanted. He couldn't take anymore.

"Thanks." The throbbing started to fade almost immediately, but his gratitude was grudging.

"Well, no need to jump up and down."

"I said thanks."

"All I want to know is when they started and what the symptoms are. Don't stare at me kid. I could tell from the way that she talked about them that this has been a problem for a while now."

He said nothing.

"Look kid, I told you when I met you that this celebrity stuff doesn't impress me. You can't use your fame or your past to get me to do what you want. I'm stubborn like that. And right now the healer in me just wants to know what's wrong with you. So that means you're going to tell me, or else."

"Or else what?" Harry glared, defiant.

"Or else I'll sit on you." She glared right back, looking deadly serious. If she hadn't had such a straight face, he might have actually laughed. How long had it been since he'd laughed?

"What, you don't think I'll do it? They must not have told you at the order, but I'm quite mad. Completely off my head, according to my colleagues. Sitting on the boy-who-pissed-me-off is not a far stretch of the imagination."

"They started a few months before the end of school." He said wearily. "They hurt and sometimes it's hard to see. And I'm not going crazy."

"No more crazy than me kid. No more crazy than me." Somehow, Harry found this proclamation about as comforting as the time Luna Lovegood assured him that he was just as sane as she was. Myra must have seen his skepticism.

"Come off it now, you of all people should understand the freedom that being mad gives you. They were calling you bonkers for a while there too. You can do anything you like and people won't stop you for fear that you'll turn on them or because they assume you're harmless. It's really great fun. The only difference between us is they never stopped thinking I was crazy." There was a tinge of bitterness to that last part, and he felt a little sorry for her.

It only took a minute for her business-like tone to return.

"So, I'll look into what's causing this and see if I can't find some sort of remedy by the next time you pop in, no? Oh, and this is for you lovebirds in the meantime. I meant to give it to you before, but I had to wait until Charlie left." She handed him a rather large, tightly stoppered bottle labeled 'Madame Pointer's Prophylactic Potion'. "Stop by anytime if you need more."

She didn't even crack a grin! Just handed him a bottle of birth control like it was the most normal thing in the world!

"What makes you think that I … that we … err … what me and Ginny get up to is our own business."

"No need to get so huffy about it! I'm just trying to prevent you from getting your skull bashed in for impregnating her by mistake."

"I … we …" He gaped.

"It's just part my healer's nature to prevent pain and loss of important appendages, I can't help it."

"Well, what do you want me to say? Thanks for the illegal birth control potion?"

"That would be acceptable. The girl does have six brothers after all. I know for a fact that Charlie would probably try to strangle you. He might even succeed." She smiled fondly.

"After everything else I'm dealing with right now, I think Ginny's family is the least of my concerns." Why was he even discussing this with her?

"Don't be so sure, kid. He might not look it, but Charlie can be a bit of a hot-head sometimes. If he caught you two fooling around, I wager he'd be a whole lot more threatening than any death eater you'll ever meet. That man is as overprotective as a hen with one egg. Make that a dragon with one egg."

She might have a point there.

**.ψ.**

The intricate gears and springs of the heavy watch were hard to see by the dim light of the single, naked bulb. Charlie felt very nervous about trying to fix it. His fingers were too square and calloused by burns and high altitudes to work with something so delicate. He was far more used to sturdy wood and nails and working with his wand and his own two hands.

"That's as good as I can do, Ronnie. You're gonna have to take it to Mr. Coggs or someone." The little stars around its edges still weren't moving, but at least they glowed and sparkled with magical light again. Charlie was rather proud of himself for even repairing that much.

Ron looked down at the heavy gold pocket watch sadly. "You'll have to take it for me. We'll be off again as soon as everyone can walk."

"Figured out what you're after?"

"No idea." Ronnie flopped back against the headboard with a wince and stared at the ceiling while Charlie closed up the back of the watch.

"You should be more careful." He wasn't sure if he meant the watch or what the four of them were about to do (they hadn't told him much except the vague idea), but his little brother only heard the surface of things.

"I know. My coming of age present and all, too! I dropped it when the dementors… Aww, fuck, I hate those things."

"Mum'd wash out your mouth if she heard you." Sometimes Charlie wasn't sure if who was worse, Harry or Ron. They seemed to feed off each other; even if Harry was usually the more sensible and hadn't started swearing till a year ago, the paler boy had taken to Ronnie's favorite form of expression like a dragon to the sky.

"She would wouldn't she?" Ron grinned. "Hey Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever managed a patronus?"

"No." It took a fairly powerful witch or wizard to create a patronus under most circumstances. Charlie often felt inadequate when he thought about them. "I've tried a lot though. We're supposed to use them to carry messages to other Order members."

"I can't either." He mumbled.

"Don't worry; you'll get the hang of it. You're a lot more powerful than I am."

"That's just it! I've been trying! Everyone else I know from the DA can produce one except me. Hermione's got her otter, Harry's got his stag, even Ginny has one now. My baby sister for Merlin's sake! It's not fair."

Charlie decided that it was good to hear Ron complain, odd as that might seem. It meant that all was still right with the world. The sun would come up, the birds would sing, and Ronnie would complain. Charlie took comfort in the certainties of life, especially now that the future seemed so _un_certain. He worried about them, all four of them, but especially his siblings. He had helped to raise them, he couldn't help it. It was hard to watch them stepping over the threshold of adulthood already carrying more than any man or woman ever should.

Charlie wished that he could do this for them and knew that he would murder anyone who ever hurt them, but they would be in this on their own. Harry had made it clear that he didn't want any help other than what he had and besides, Charlie had a job. Six to four in the dungeons and vaults of Gringots wasn't exactly wonderful, but it brought in some money and he was saving for a flat in Diagon alley. Either way, the four of them were flying solo.

Ron was soon out like a light. Charlie headed back towards the kitchen and Stella. Halfway there, he noticed a light in the room next to Hermione's. He peeked in to find Ginny crying.

"Gin?"

"What do you want?" She snapped. "Oh, it's you Charlie."

"Who did you think it was?"

She looked out the window and turned red. "No one."

Charlie had the sudden urge to murder a certain skinny, geeky looking boy. Any goodwill he had ever felt for him was thrown right out the window. He sat down at the end of her bed, using the rule of thumb for wounded creatures. Don't startle them or prod them and give them plenty of space.

"Did you two have a fight?" Charlie tried to sound gentler than he felt.

"No. Yes. I mean, yes –hic- but…" she dissolved into quiet tears and accepted his embrace, curling up in his lap for the first time since she was six. He could feel her whole body trembling. "It's not the fighting Charlie. I'm just so scared."

"Scared of him?" What was originally intended to be a quick murder suddenly became plans for a slow and painful death. Charlie was not going to let anyone hurt his baby sister!

"No, you great berk." She looked up at him with a drippy attempt at a smile. "Of … well. I don't know. God Charlie, I just …" She gestured helplessly in the air. Ginny was a great one for gesturing with her hands when she talked.

"I wake up sometimes and just watch him, and I think to myself: Is this the last time I'll ever get to see him? Is he going to die tomorrow?"

"Everyone does that, I think."

"But I'm not just being dopey and love struck, Charlie! He really could. Someday he's going to have to fight V…Voldermort, and I don't know if either of us are going to survive. Oh, don't flinch. Harry's right about that. No one should be afraid of a name."

"Only if you stop talking so suicidaly."

"It's not suicidal, Charlie. It's the truth. I'm fighting here too you know. I could … well, I could die any day. I'm alright with that, just as long as I go with Harry. The hard part is knowing that he's the one that they're after, that he's the one who will probably wind up dead. So I stay up and I listen to him breath and I think to myself: Ginny, if he dies, we aren't going to be able to live. There won't be anything left worth sticking around for. Don't look at me like that! I'm not some airheaded girl who doesn't know what life is about! I know this all just sounds like a first crush, but I know it's not. I'm in love Charlie! I love him, and it scares the crap out of me because I know that this is once-in-a-lifetime, real, honest-to-Circe love!"

Charlie had no idea what to say.

He just held her and let her cry again for a while, wishing he knew what to do.

"So, I take it you've been sleeping together." He whispered hoarsely and noted that that came out much more abruptly than he had intended it to.

"Yeah."

"Was he your first time?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's good, I guess. You should love someone before you play hide the wand."

She snorted.

"You two are being careful, right?"

"Yes father. We aren't idiots."

"Here, wipe your nose." He loosened one of his arms from around her and indicated his sleeve.

"Thanks." She was full of snot and tears and a pair of bloodshot eyes. There were several more minutes of nose blowing and more sniffling.

"Haven't you ever loved someone like this?"

"Well … no."

"Not even Amara?"

"Nah, that was hatchling love. Not the real deal. Is it that serious with you two?"

"Would I be in here crying if it wasn't?"

"Point taken. You really are the toughest one of us all, you know? If anyone can love that git, it's you." He wasn't quite over the fact that the kid had taken Ginny's virginity.

"He's not a git."

"He does a really good impression of one sometimes."

"Give him a break. It's been a long couple of days."

"He's been through a lot, hasn't he?"

"You can say that again." Charlie could almost physically see a red wave of anger rise up inside her. "That house, those people! Those terrible people! I always thought he was exaggerating about them being so bad … but, oooh, I wish I could give them a piece of my mind! I did give them a piece of my mind, come to think of it."

"You sound like Mum when you say that. 'I'll give you a piece of my mind!"

She giggled.

"Besides, they can't be all that bad."

"Want to put some gold on that? You know, Harry broke down and told me they used to make him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs." She said sadly, looking like she wanted to run off to her boyfriend and hold him just thinking about it. "Can you even imagine?"

Charlie couldn't.

He was shocked. Strong, cocky, foul mouthed Harry? Growing up in an abusive home? He really couldn't imagine, couldn't even picture what it would be like not to have anyone love you. He'd always had his family. They were nutters, the lot of them, and they drove him mad, but Charlie never doubted that he was loved.

Charlie decided that in light of this new information, Harry could live … for a little while longer, at least.

**.ψ.**

Later that night, three couples fell asleep in each other's arms. They were exhausted, they were confused, and they were scared shitless, but for a few hours they knew the comfort and the peace that only comes when you hold on tight to the one that you love.

(Though Ron did get smacked before Hermione welcomed him into her bed…)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Hmm, theories about what happened on privet drive, anyone? As Harry, Charlie, Stella, and the rest of the gang head towards the 'final battle' if you will, I'm going to be writing my own predictions about how I think book seven might play out. A LOT of my hypotheses are based on the cryptic answers about book seven that JKR has given in her interviews over the years. I've also drawn conclusions from things that I think might be hints from through out the first six books. If you want to get a better idea of what's in the interviews, I would direct you to the Harry Potter Lexicon and Quick Quill Quotes dot org.

Originally, I had planned for Ron's watch to be some sort of family heirloom from the same grandfather who gave him his chess set. But I was looking around the HP lexicon and low and behold, what should I find? Ron actually DOES have a gold pocket watch! (Half Blood Prince, Ch.18) Specifically, 'a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands.' By coincidence (or maybe not?) Dumbledore owned something quite similar, described as 'a golden watch' and '… a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge.' Hmm… Oh, and I had a lot of fun calling Ron a muppet. I don't know why, but the name just seems to fit him perfectly when Stella uses it.

**Possum-** No, blood isn't very romance friendly. It isn't very Charlie friendly for that matter. (The poor boy has a bit of a weak stomach around blood, if no one has caught that by now, haha) But I promise, there will be some happy fluff –and other ahem … romantic things- next chapter! Just for you possum, just for you!

**AquaFairy-** Thank you. As always, you have made me blush profusely. I'm so happy to hear that you find this realistic; because that is one of the areas of my writing that I'm really tying to improve in right now. I like the kartunes too, and you might just see more of those… (Cough cough …maybe next chapter!) I hope the wait was worth it. Did you guess that it was Hermione?

**HarryPotterMagic-** You understood exactly what I was getting at with Charlie's character! Oh, I wish I could hug you. As for the cross cultural stuff, I'm slowly learning all of this myself because I plan to move to England or Ireland after getting my undergraduate degree and I don't want to be 'the dorky American'! Haha! I thought it was a nice touch to add into the story, as I see Stella as an average but fairly well traveled person. I hope the kitchen was all that you hoped for?

As for Fiddler … AHHH! The coincidences here are just frightening! I was in Fiddler my senior year of high school (one of my best friends did Yente, and man was she a hit. Did you do the accent? You can't be a good Yente without the accent!) Are you sure we weren't separated at birth or something? lol


	15. Boom

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Fifteen: Boom**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

…_My heart goes Boum Boum Boum  
Every time I think of you  
I feel that Boum Boum Boum  
No control of what I'll do_

_Simplicity, complexity, oh what a tragedy  
Reality, insanity, strange normality  
Incredible, untouchable, but just visual  
And I want you, just you but natural…_

_-'Boum Boum Boum', Enigma_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"…there have been no further developments in mission seeker, despite the efforts of…" Remus Lupin droned on.

Charlie finally understood how that bald child in the telly felt when adults spoke to him.

"…communicating with members abroad … muah … muah muah mauh … owls intercepted by unknown … muah muah …"

Ironic that the little boy's name was also Charlie.

"… muah muah …"

How could anyone keep their mind on something so boring when it was so beautiful outdoors? The darkness of the dining room and the stiff backed chair were not helping at all.

" … muah muah muah …"

At first he had hoped that having a girlfriend would make these meetings more bearable. Someone to talk to or at least someone to poke him if he started to snore. But this notion was soon crushed. Instead of being a shoulder to lean on when he was dozing off, Stella either joined in on her friends' gossip or paid rapt attention to whoever was speaking.

Today was gossip, and they'd been at it all morning.

"… Oh, but did you _see_ him?" Stasia Mackay giggled quietly a few seats down the row, avoiding Lupin's eyes.

"Mmm. Yeah, he's quite the looker, in't he?" Tonks wobbled on her chair; her hair changed from green to orange.

"… muah muah muah …"

Stella's soft brown robes shifted next to him as she smiled. "He does have pretty eyes."

What was she doing looking at other bloke's eyes?

"What do _you_ think, Jaci?"

The tiny girl in question turned more and more pink, adjusting her enormous square spectacles. "I … well, he's um … nice."

"Nice? Oh, he's a dream!" He wished Stasia would stop squealing. These meetings were bad enough the way it was.

"You say that about every man you meet."

"So?"

"Come on, Jaci, she's got a bit of a point."

"That idiot couldn't charm shit to fly out his ass. Now shut up and listen." The fifth voice joined in; biting, crisp and clean as a freshly sharpened kitchen knife.

Fish face really reminded him a lot of a little girl named Lucy on the Charlie Brown kartune, only more caustic and cold. Ice and steel were softer and warmer than a girl like that. He couldn't understand why Stella liked her so much. Then again, he couldn't help but draw parallels between the dark haired girl in the telly and his own dark haired girl. They were both determined and rude and full of female insanity. He smiled down at the top of her head, eager to get out of the dark dining room and spring his surprise on her.

The meeting wasn't over soon enough.

**.ψ.**

"I'm not going to peek, you ass. Just take me wherever it is you're taking me." She looked about ready to bite him, so Charlie grabbed the basket and nudged the screen door open, enjoying the warm afternoon sun that flooded the garden. A brisk fall breeze brushed his face when he took her hand.

As he started to lead her down a path Tonks had informed him about the other day, Charlie looked back at Stella and thought of how different his life was becoming with her in it. Three months ago, he never would have guessed that he would be here today, leading a blindfolded girl off to a romantic picnic near the house where she grew up. Charlie Weasley did not do romantic picnics. Charlie Weasley did not take the time to ask his girlfriends' crazy sisters about their favorite places. And Charlie Weasley did not cook health food.

But somehow here he was.

It wasn't like he had woken up one morning and decided to become some sort of Romeo. No thank you! He didn't have the first idea about romance. He wasn't Bill. It had just seemed like a good idea, this picnic, especially since women tended to be very picky about anniversaries.

He looked back at her again and sighed, wishing that their time together had been less confusing, but grateful for it none the less.

These past few weeks had been just as golden as the trees, if a little frustrating. Even Bill's advice didn't always work with Stella. It was very odd. Every other girl he'd dated in the past had been very fond of 'snuggling' as they tended to put it in their girly terms. Most of them tended to be very impressed by his shoulders and his burn scars and his stories about Romania.

But not Stella.

Stella had seen hundreds of scars and thousands of shoulders. Stella had been to Romania and had her own stories. Stella did not use words like 'snuggle', nor did she engage in the activity itself.

She seemed to like snogging well enough, but when their lips weren't otherwise engaged she really didn't seem to care for being held. It was like she was two different people, one eager and playful, one friendly but a bit physically distant. She was still the same old bright, cheerful Stella who hugged everyone –even crotchety old Mad-Eye Moody, a feat that would get most people killed- She just didn't like to be held. Charlie found this incredibly confusing.

His frequent visits to the ugly tartan couch had continued with happy frequency. Unless he or Stella was working or she had 'something to do', he was there. But unless there was lip lock or she was asleep, brief hugs were about all the physical contact he got. Charlie wasn't an unusually needy guy, and he wasn't crazy about women who hung onto their boyfriends like lethifolds, so it wasn't necessarily a bad thing … just very … unsettling. It felt sort of inherently wrong that such an exuberant person as Stella would not care for the same sort of 'cuddling' that so many other, less affectionate girls did.

Was he doing something wrong?

His thoughts were interrupted when she tripped and fell against him like a rock. "You alright Stella?"

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what, luv?"

She mumbled something that would have seen his mum having kittens. "I tell you once, I tell you a hundred times! My name is Myra. Myra! Not luv, not Stella, just _Myra_. You can remember this, yes?"

"Sure, I remember. It's just more fun this way." He grinned, knowing she couldn't see him.

"Grahhh!" She bellowed in frustration. "I'm going to skewer you with your own wand, you gutless, beetle-eyed…"

He snatched off the blindfold and in a fit of unexpected courage, leaned in to whisper: "You were saying?"

"…you … beautiful man." Brilliant! Charlie was willing to bet that she wasn't thinking about any other bloke's eyes right now!

Her smile became a grin, and she threw a pair of happy arms around him. "This is the surprise? A picnic?"

"A little bird told me you liked it out here." He gestured to the meadow in front of them, a low bowl of fading greens and soft browns, surrounded by little thickets of trees. Charlie had wanted to do this for weeks now, but the weather and both their schedules had been disrupting his plans.

"A little pig, you mean?" She asked with her twinkling eyes and tapped her nose. "Nyms has a big mouth."

"It must run in the family."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a good thing that you can do more useful things with those lips, or I wouldn't keep you around. So what's in the basket?"

"Why should I tell you?" Charlie inquired while rolling out an old blanket over a tramped down patch of dead grass, hoping to get a kiss out of the deal.

"I won't kill you for insulting me." She tried to be straight-faced.

"Where did you get that morbid sense of humor?"

"Just produce the food before you find out first hand, you ass. Ooo! You brought broccoli! You are a superb example of a human being, Charlie Weasley!" With that, she proceeded to attack the picnic.

They ate happily for a while, enjoying the warm, golden weather and occasionally cracking jokes. It was nice to just lay there with her and watch the clouds. He hadn't been sure if what he packed would be appropriate, since he hadn't been on a picnic since he was twelve and all he remembered about it was that Fred and George had buried Percy in an anthill, but Stella assured him that all was well.

"I don't think I've ever been on such a nice picnic." She kissed him on the cheek, and he wished for the thousandth time that afternoon that Stella would let him hold her. It would be so nice to just sit there with her in his arms and watch the falling leaves that rustled in the wind, enjoy the simple contentment of her leaning up against him.

Charlie was so deep in thought that he almost didn't see the other thing that was rustling in between the trees: a small, skinny bird with puny wings. He recognized it immediately as Fred's baby Diricawl. The kid liked animals almost as much as he did, so 'Frankie' had been one of the first things Fred had bought once Triple W started to soar.

A sinking feeling wormed its way into Charlie's gut but he said nothing, hoping the little grey creature would stay where it was.

It didn't.

"Sodding bird! Come back here with that!" She started to go after the little guy to retrieve her broccoli. There was a sudden but quiet 'boom', and the bird was gone in a tiny cloud of feathers.

"He's long gone by now." Charlie chuckled and picked at a piece of dead grass. He didn't want her to kill the poor little thing, even if Fred was teaching it naughty tricks. "Besides, I thought you liked birds."

"They make me sneeze. They steal my food. What is supposed to make me so fond of them? Bloody annoying, not to mention disgusting."

"Well, you keep a couple of them at the flat. I figured you liked them. Why else would you keep them?"

"They're not mine, messy little buggers. No thank you. I have enough fun with Quex. The rest of the menagerie in that apartment is due to the joy of having a flatmate."

"A flatmate? You never told me you had a flatmate. Why haven't I ever seen her?" He wondered nervously if the flatmate was a him. Was Stella hiding another boyfriend?

She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"No, I guess you haven't, have you? Moi's almost never home though, so that's probably why. Those sods down at Mungo's work her to the bone and she really just comes back to eat and sleep these days. Sometimes she doesn't even do that." There was bitterness in her voice, but he had bigger things on his mind.

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You live with Fish-face?"

"Just until I have the time to finish the place and start renting it out. Can't afford the bills without her before then. And don't call her that! I mean it, Charlie." Stella made a very threatening gesture. "She's one of my best friends."

"Do you mean to tell me that we've been snogging in the same house as … we've been … while she's been sleeping?" He found it difficult to choke it out.

"Don't worry, Charlie, I told her not to make any noise when she peeks."

"You … you can't be serious!"

"Oh, close your jaw gatito. You'll collect flies if you leave it open like that." She patted his cheek. "Don't worry. I told her to steer completely clear of the basement at all times so that we have some privacy. Have you no faith in me at all?"

"I … well … it's hard to tell sometimes! Don't scare me like that again!"

"Aww, but you look so cute when you're flabbergasted." She complained with that bright smile he loved plastered all over her face.

"Hey! I am not 'cute'!" Charlie was very offended. Little kids were cute. Bunnies were cute. He was _not _'cute'.

"Mmm, you're cute to me." She said with a grin and pulled him over for a kiss on the cheek.

One thing soon lead to another, and one kiss became much more. It was a thoroughly successful round of snogging, in fact. He was allowed to hold and touch and investigate several things that were usually classified in the 'don't-you-dare-if-you-value-your-ability-to-spawn' category. The last few weeks had not dulled his curiosity about her body one iota.

After all, he was a scientist at heart and it's an established fact that scientists live for the thrill of discovery.

Everything was looking up until his elbow slipped in something decidedly squishy. The kiss was instantly broken. He heard Stella snort and looked down to see a slice of gorgeous strawberry pie hopelessly smeared all over his arm.

Stella threw her head back and started laughing until tears rolled down her cheeks and she grabbed her sides. Charlie glared at her, which her start giggling all over again.

"Oh … oh gatito! The … ha ha! … the look on your face!"

It took a while for Stella to stop cackling and saying that he looked like Mad-Eye with a stick up his arse. When she finally left off with taking the mickey out of him, they went back to cloud watching, side by side on the old wool blanket.

"That one's a cactus." She pointed.

"Baby Ridgeback."

"Lunascope."

"Nah, an egg. Definitely a dragon egg."

"Do you ever think about anything besides dragons?"

"Eating. Breathing. Quidditch." **_You_**, he added silently, not really knowing why he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. "It's just part of me, you know? I'm gonna miss playing after meetings now that they …"

She didn't have to ask. When they left without telling anyone except Stella, Tonks, Charlie, and a few of their school friends, those who were in the know had made an unspoken pact never to mention the information they were privy to, especially around Lupin or Charlie's mum.

"Did they say anything to you?" She said quietly, staring at the cold blue sky.

"Something about Hogwarts."

"Yeah, that was about all I got out of them too." Her voice was soft and far away, but after a bit of silence she chuckled sternly. "I hope they can manage to keep themselves in one piece this time. Made the little buggers promise not to do anything as abysmally daft as taking on fourteen dementors again. Honestly, I might just let em suffer a little next time they go off thrill seeking and come back crying."

"Suffer?" Charlie propped himself up to look at her.

"Oh I don't mean I won't heal them, you ass. I'll just make sure they learn their lesson."

"That sounds a bit … cruel, don't you think?"

"No. Sometimes pain is the best teacher. Pain and experience." A ghost of something passed over her, but it was gone in an instant. "I want them to figure out that they can't just burst in and play hero without thinking."

"Stella! What are you saying, girl? You can't just let people hurt to make them do what you want!"

"Sure you can." She said with a stubborn sort of flippancy, as though he were being foolish. "You just have to be open to using all your options. I _am_ going to get through to them, and I'll do it by any means necessary. When I want something, I get it."

Her words made him nauseous, and Charlie wished he hadn't asked. It made her sound so … _Slytherin_.

"Besides, the less mangled limbs of theirs I have to deal with, the more time I'll have for research. And for late night telly, of course." She added with a smile.

"Mmm. He laid back and watched the sparse clouds roll past, trying to ignore the facts about her that he didn't like as uneasy silence hung between them. _Focus on the good things, Charlie. Think about the positive. _ "So … why did you become a healer anyway?"

He heard a great whoosh of air pass her lips, and turned his head just enough to see her shoulders hunched and her eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

"I dunno." She shrugged. "It was my best subject at school." He began to feel her slipping into 'I-don't-want-to-talk-about-my-past' territory, and decided that he was going to go ahead anyway for once. They were seeing each other now. He had a right to know a little at least!

"Really? I would have figured charms or history."

"Oh, right … I guess I probably did get better marks in those, but ... well, with charms it was more hard studying than real skill, because I was fond of Flitzy, and history's more of a hobby than a profession. I really had no idea what I was going to do, even after my career advisory meeting with Professor Snape."

"But Madame Pomfrey, she said I was good, told me I had what it takes. It meant a lot, her telling me." Light danced in her eyes. "It was so thrilling, to really hear someone say that! Myra, you're good at this! Myra, you've got it! I just can't explain it."

"And I guess I just wanted to … to help. Felt like I had a … a … a responsibility … to help, no?" The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly in a faint, odd little smile as she stared off into the setting sun. He wished that he knew why she did that, whished he knew what she was thinking about that made that smile look almost sad. "When I die, I want to look back know that I left something good here, that I atoned a little and made a few people smile. That'd be alright, you know?"

He rolled over to ask her what she meant about 'atoning', just in time to hear a little boom and see another bunch of feathers fall of top of the plate where the radishes used to be.

"Bloody bird! I swear, I'm going to get Ted to teach me how to shoot first thing in the morning!"

"Shoot what?"

"He has this old gun in the back closet. Sometimes he goes hunting with Mr. MacFarlan."

"Gun?" He'd heard about the muggle killing-wands before, but he'd never seen one. The idea of an angry Stella with her hands on one made him nervous. "Err, how about we find something else to do instead?"

She gave him an irritated grimace. "I can't think of many things I'd rather be doing than killing that satanic blob of feathers."

"I dunno." He reached over to brush her cheek with the tough, scarred tips of his fingers and lowered his voice, leaning closer. "I can think of one thing we'd both rather be doing."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You have a one track mind, gatito."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

Stella opened her mouth to reply, but somehow never got around to finishing the thought.

**.ψ.**

It was a chilly, soggy night a few days later. The pavement was dirty and the stars were obscured by brazen signs glaring rudely from their perches. Muggles walked right by him, sauntered past him, danced around him, unaware of who he was or the world he belonged to, many in varying stages of drunkenness. But blustery winds chilled them all, magic and muggle just the same.

Charlie let the icy fingers tug at his cloak and toy with the new fastenings his mum had sewn on a few weeks ago, not minding that the weather was far too cold for mid-September. It would have better fit November with its dreary monotone drizzling and whispered promises of frost, the sort of night that made him homesick inside. He wasn't pining for the burrow (though that would always be home to him in some sense or another) but for Romania and Wallachia. For the stark majesty of Kostya's Peak. For the high, familiar tune of Norwegian Ridgebacks crooning to their mates.

His own mate was not nearly as tolerant of the conditions as he was. Charlie chuckled softly as he watched her hurry down the back alley towards him like a cat getting out of the rain, muttering under her breath about the cold and the rain.

Charlie found it surprising that he had thought of her as a mate. They weren't exactly a pair-bonded set like two Ridgeys. In fact, as the mate in question got closer he had a sneaking suspicion that it was a bit more like the relationship between mating Peruvian Vipertooths, where the more aggressive females often killed and consumed their mates once the eggs were fertilized.

Not that there had been any fertilization between Stella and him.

Odd as it sounded in his own head, he actually didn't mind not having 'mixed the potion'. Not that he didn't want to, of course. He was a man after all. And it wouldn't be the first time that he'd gone that far with a bird. But for some unknowable reason, he was alright with them staying right where they were for the moment. Wherever that was.

Stella soon scuttled inside and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You smell." She wrinkled up her nose.

"It's part of the package." He replied with a shrug as they checked in with the 'bouncer'.

(Apparently this was the name muggles used for a keeper of the keys, though for the life of him Charlie couldn't figure out what the generally heavy-set men had to do with bouncing.)

It wasn't like there was anything he could do about it. The little flat above Slug & Jiggers was the cheapest place on Diagon Alley for a reason. Besides, the only people who ever got this close to him were Stella and the dragons at work, and the dragons weren't complaining.

"Oh, there's the girls. I'll see you in a bit, gatito." Stella was gone so fast that Charlie would have sworn she apparated if he hadn't known how much she hated it.

There was nothing for it but to go in as well. He momentarily considered staying in the dingy hallway, but he had a job to do and the bouncy-man didn't look like very good company in the first place.

Smoke and raucous noise washed over him inside the packed club as the bass beat of the techno music punched him in the gut. Bodies were everywhere, sweating, dancing, snogging and generally just existing in too cramped a space. Lights reeled wildly across the endless carpet of movement, bathing everything in a smoky, jeweled half-light. Habit took him to the bar where there was an irritating wait for the attentions of the barkeeper. The hard edged woman behind the counter graced him with a small smile and slid him his first bottle of firewiskey.

It was going to be a long night.

Their current mission was no more exciting to Charlie than the last one he'd had. The order had been recruiting quietly at in clubs and other night scenes for a few months now, using the cover of bands like Stella's and occasional help from bigger names to drum up individual conversations. You couldn't really recruit for the Order of the Phoenix using posters and radio announcements after all, and the real struggle for numbers was with their generation now. But after a little while, rumors had been circulating that the death eaters were catching on to their strategy. Some one had to come as protection for the recruiters and dating one made him a prime candidate for the job.

At least Stella was involved this boring mission. He did get the chance to see her performing from time to time, but it still seemed an acromantula's stride away from anything James Bond had ever done. No explosions, no high speed chases, and no large chested women. Stella didn't really count, of course.

She came back after a few hours. Her face was pink and her hair net was askew, making it very hard not to want to start snogging her there on the spot, but it appeared that was the last thing on her mind.

"You really do smell." He decided to talk Mr. Clepis, the clerk who worked at the apothecary in the mornings. Charlie didn't recall him having any sort of odor, even after crushing those squelchy beetles' eyes for hours on end.

Stella did not drink at all, as usual, and he kept the firewhiskey limited to two bottles because they were on duty. Since she wasn't intoxicated (and he was a bit distracted, both by her and by the slightest edge of the liquor creeping up on him) her next line of thought came as a bit of a shock.

"This is a good song, don't you think Charlie?"

"Mmm." He was too preoccupied with studying her neckline to pay attention to what she was saying.

"I used to come here a lot with the girls. We spent some good nights on the floor with this song."

"Really." He pondered what she would look like without the shirt. Some of the more notable parts of his anatomy came to the consensus that the picture was a right pleasant one.

"I got pretty good after a while. I'm a lot better at it that waltzing anyways." Her tone became more focused, but he did not notice the change.

"Uh huh." Thoughts elsewhere, Charlie wondered if maybe he should reconsider his stance on the fertilization issue.

They were very nice breasts, after all.

"So you'll dance with me then?"

"Huh?"

"Have you been listening to a word I've been saying or just staring at my boobs?"

Charlie searched desperately for an appropriate answer. He suddenly had a whole new appreciation for how male Vipertooths must feel before they get offed. But before he managed to earn himself an untimely demise, Stella continued on.

"Just come dance with me, you ass. You'll get the hang of it. Besides, you'll probably find it very … entertaining …" The look she gave him was half exasperation, half suggestion.

Charlie allowed himself to be lead onto the dance floor with trepidation in his gut. There was hardly any room to breath, much less move, and the flashing lights wouldn't allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He was going to make a fool of himself. Maybe if he was lucky, she would loose him in this crowd. The last thing on earth he wanted her to see right now was him being a complete berk.

_Boum Boum Boum_

Charlie began to remember why he hated techno music.

_My heart goes …  
My heart …  
My heart goes …_

With every step in, the forest of bodies grew thicker and his palms grew sweatier. What had he been thinking?

_My heart goes Boum Boum Boum_

He felt the music more than heard it, since you couldn't hear much over the roar of the wild frenzy around them, Charlie was happy to find he didn't have as much to worry about as he had thought. It only took a few songs for him to find the rhythm of things. Just about anyone could dance like this, at least on a rudimentary level. And the gyrating motion _was_ proving … entertaining. Stella seemed to know this and flashed a mischievous grin at him over her shoulder.

She was soft. It felt good to have her in his arms, her back against his chest. Tingling shot through him, just under his skin, like the burning itch that goes down your spine when you transfigure yourself. Merlin, it felt good. He should have taken her up on this months ago.

_My heart goes Boum Boum Boum  
Every time I think of you  
Heart's going boum boum boum  
Lost control what shall I do?_

But there was more to it than just animal attraction. He could feel that with half the women in the club. (Some of them might even go along with it too, considering the massive amounts of humanity that had overrun the place) The physical feelings were the larger part of what he was experiencing, yet there was just something … more. He couldn't think of a way to explain it to himself, except that it must be part of Stella's unique personality.

_Simplicity, complexity, oh what a tragedy_

She was so different from the people he was used to, a mad blend of sensibility and sheer insanity with a drop of frustrating iniquity. He did his best to ignore the fact that she was –in spite of his best efforts to convince himself otherwise- very much a Slytherin. She wielded money out of his brothers, consorted with Fish Face and the like, and contemplated 'teaching painful lessons' with the casual air of a woman on a mission to buy a certain pair of shoes. He loathed everything about that detestable way of looking at the world, was sickened by profiteers and self centered egotists. Yet he secretly wondered if that hint of wrongness, that glint of daring sinfulness was the very thing that made her so enticing.

He tried not to consider the possibility for too long.

_Reality, insanity, strange normality_

But there was so much about her that was worth looking for, worth overlooking her snakelike tendencies. She was lively and happy and good-natured. She made him smile. She listened to him … some of the time at least. She was definitely pretty, even if she wasn't quite the sort of girl he had mooned over at Hogwarts. She wanted to help people. She was kindhearted and good.

Most importantly, she wanted him too. There were a limited number of women in the world that were actively seeking Charlie Weasley at the moment, and he felt very lucky to have located one.

_Incredible, untouchable, but just visual  
And I want you, just you but natural_

And there was a sense of mystery that hung around her, pulling him in despite himself. The past she never talked about, the appointments she wouldn't discuss, the sadness that he caught in her eyes sometimes when she thought no one was looking. He wanted to know why, wanted to understand what she was thinking, why she laughed at the jokes she did, what made her cry. There was so much of her that he had never seen.

She kept her secrets and kept them well, locked up behind iron walls and charmed doors that he was afraid to knock at. He was not an overly curious man by nature, but Stella bent all of his usual rules and standards far past the point of no return. It frightened him a little. And it made her even more appealing.

_Cos I wanna be your lover  
Till the end of our lives_

In fact, Charlie found that he could easily set aside Stella's faults when he thought about the positive aspects of her personality. He was getting good at just pretending the undesirable traits weren't there. Someday he was sure he would be able to bury their existence so deeply in the back of his head that it would be like they weren't real at all.

_I could never miss again  
_

Someday?

_These loving eyes _

For the first time, he seriously considered the idea that this really could last longer than a few months.

And the idea was not as frightening as he thought it would be.

She might really end up being something.

_They_ might be something.

_Oh Boum Boum Boum_

In that moment, Charlie let go of caring about what he was thinking. He would worry about it all tomorrow. Tonight he was going to concentrate on her, his crazy witch, his dark-haired girl. He was going to forget everything except her and the music.

_Cos I wanna be your lover  
Till the end of our lives  
I could never miss again  
These loving eyes  
Oh Boum Boum-_

_**BOOM!**_

The wall behind them crashed down with a roar. Bricks and debris flew through the air. People were running, screaming. Black robed figures began to dart in through the smoke.

Black robed figures wearing bone white masks.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes: **Predictions anyone? (evil grin)

Now lots of you are probably animal lovers and are probably thinking to yourselves 'no, that's not right. Stella's such a nice person! She should be kind to the birdies and love all the little critters!'. I'm an animal lover myself in fact, so this is one of her less appealing aspects for me too. But Stella, much like Charlie, is very human, and this is the first of several of her downfalls as a person. I wanted you to see her as a full, round personality (even if Charlie tends to view her in a very good light most of the time.) In fact, that's one of the reasons that Charlie had to find out about this particular flaw, since he's such an animal person himself. He has to realize (eventually, the twit) that their relationship, like all relationships, is not all fairy dust and happy endings. It's something between two ordinary, flawed people who care about each other and learn to accept the things about the other that they don't necessarily care for.

For those who look closely, you may find clues in the cloudwatching scene. For more on Diricawls, please check out the Harry Potter Lexicon or the book JKR wrote for charity, 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'.

I would apologize about how late this chapter is, but I can't because I'm not all that sorry in the end. It was too important to just rush through writing this one, and even though I'm still not quite happy with it, I'm glad I waited and thought it through. I hope all you readers out in readerland can understand and will forgive me like the darlings I know you are.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum- **Yeah, angry Harry has quite the forceful personality, doesn't he? I think it's just that I see him so clearly, that he is so unlike me and that makes him easier to write. In a way, Charlie is a bit more difficult because there are a few aspects of my own personality that slip into his voice if I'm not careful, so it's harder to keep a totally in focus mental picture of him 100 percent of the time. Yes, thank God. (God is very good at that sort of thing as a general rule, and since I'm acting as his surrogate here in my fanfiction literary land –yay for my authoristic God-complex- I'm rather flattered to hear that I'm doing a good job of it) No, she's rather blunt, isn't she? One of her most loveable qualities. I think that she feels an odd sort of … well, you might say a connection to Harry in a way, so that might be why she chose him over Ginny. Or maybe she was just being her clueless self…

**HarryPotterMagic- **I think you are going to enjoy the ride on the CMG prediction train. I do hope so. Dumbledore … can't say much about that until I'm sure how much about it I'm including in this particular fic… hmm. Dying … well, obviously I can't let THAT cat out of the proverbial bag ("No, Myra, we are NOT putting Moira's cats and/or kneezles into bags. You are a blackhearted woman, do you know that?" "Bloody things make me sneeze.") As for Fiddler, they didn't let you use accents? Are they crazy? That's half the fun of putting it on! Someone ought to smack your theater director up a bit.

**Aqua- **Crying? Yes!(does little dance of celebration) I always know I've done my job as an authoress when the reader A: wants to cry, B:has the uncontrollable urge to smack someone, or C: considers making me baked goods. I'm glad that the kitchen people came as a surprise. I love keeping everyone in suspense … like the end of this chapter, for instance… muahaha! Yeah, Stella's sense of tact and discretion is not a thing of beauty. (Come to think of it, I'm not sure she even HAS a sense of tact and discretion) I'm sorry about the wait, and it's far from perfect, but do enjoy.


	16. The Battle of Bricks

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Battle of Bricks**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The whole world was moving too fast.

Charlie's senses seemed disconnected, some dull and impossible, others so sensitive that he felt ready to sick. The music suddenly cut off with a tremendous explosion, but the club lights continued to rove and surge with an almost perverse sort of vindictive glee. Everything was spinning at a pace he couldn't possibly hope to comprehend. People were moving everywhere. Some were screaming and stumbling. Some were running for their lives. Some didn't get that far.

But none of it really registered. Not the blood, not the hooded criminals and the psychopathic murderers, not the danger.

There was only one thought in his head.

_Stella._

She was gone.

A purple spotlight skated across his vision. A wild eyed woman dove past him, narrowly escaping a charmed brick flung towards her skull.

Charlie couldn't breathe.

_Stella._

She'd been there just a moment ago, her warm back softly molded into him and her eyes twinkling. Now he was cold and sharply alone.

_Merlin, where is she? I've got to get her out of here!_

Another brick came hurtling out of nowhere so quickly that Charlie didn't have a chance. It jettisoned into his gut with a sizzling sound and an amber glow, knocking him to the ground. Several pairs of boots trampled him in their flight, desperate and uncaring. His stomach felt like a gaping hole and every part of his body was on fire.

Even thoughts of Stella flew right out of his head as he struggled to stand.

_Gotta get up. _

Curses and hexes flew in the air above him, deflecting in showers of scorching sparks.

_Up. Up, bugger it!_

Suddenly there were no more people rushing past him. He heard screams and buzzing and the roaring of fire somewhere else, but he was alone.

Then he realized why.

_Get up! Get out! _

Staggering to his feet, Charlie could barely make out the towering figure headed his way.

_No. No!_

The figure aimed for him, sending a virulent hex directly at his still aching stomach.

_Run!_

It was far from running –more of a stagger and dive than anything- but somehow he managed to fall fast enough to avoid the fate of the pillar behind him. It began to melt upon contact.

Melt.

That had almost been him!

Charlie found himself behind a pair of overturned barstools. All it would take was a few more strides and he would be back. This time there would be no place to fall.

_Wake up Charlie! Merlin, let this be a nightmare!_

Someone bellowed "Liquefactious!"

One of the barstools began to melt.

He was done for.

_Think! There's gotta be something!_

He couldn't remember anything. Why hadn't he paid more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts? The only things that came to mind from school were his notes for Transfiguration N.E.W.T.'s.

_Well at least McGonagall will be happy to know that I died with something useful in my head._

The hooded face he had been dreading peered into Charlie's hiding place.

_Please, I don't want to die. I don't want to die._

The figure raised its wand, preparing to strike.

"Inanimatus Conjurus!"

He had no idea why that particular spell popped into his head. It was a simple one really. Even though McGonagall was convinced that conjuring was one of the more difficult aspects of transfiguration, he'd had it down by the end of second year, even with the handicap of a lack of power. Nor did he know why he had concentrated on the image of a tea kettle. No reason really. Just something, anything to fling in the way of impending doom.

And somehow it worked.

The figure stumbled back, surprised by his attack.

_Think, think! What next?_

"Oppugno!"

The kettle began to assault the dark figure, using its spout like a battering ram on the skull.

He remembered the day that he'd mastered that one, October of his third year. It was the day before the Halloween feast, and McGonagall had been so impressed that he'd managed something as advanced as commanding conjured objects that she gave the entire class a night without homework. That was the day Donag warmed up to him.

His first real friend.

The sharp memories gave him an extra sliver of strength, and he used it to transfigure the kettle's copper makeup into unyielding iron. He needed every last drop of it too. Alchemy was a lot harder than conjuring.

The death eater fled, kettle close behind.

_Did I just do what I think I did?_

A shout from behind him was all the warning Charlie got before danger reared its ugly head again.

_No! I don't have anything left!_

Screams were becoming louder again as terrorized people were herded his way. Flickers of Aurors and Order members could be seen at odd intervals, flashing as they defied the death eaters. He struggled to his feet once more, desperate to avoid the stampede.

_I can't … oh no! Merlin, no!_

In that dark robe the death eater almost looked like a dementor.

But a dementor would not have two dozen glowing bricks flying in circles around its head, shooting out and attacking victims.

_RUN!_

His feet just wouldn't seem to listen.

He franticly searched for anything, ANYTHING, to stay alive for the next five seconds. This time it was like trying to grab at starlight or sunshine. Trying to get a fist full of sand. Trying to touch the moon. He could hardly breathe, let alone think.

_RUN!_

The death eater advanced, sending two more bricks flying in other directions. Charlie watched in mute horror as one hit Tonks in the back with a resounding thud. The curly headed woman dropped to the blood spattered floor like an empty sack.

_That's what I'm going to look like._

Charlie saw the robed figure turn its head to better see him.

This is it.

He closed his eyes.

There was a sudden bang, quickly followed by a series of clunks.

Charlie's eyes shot open to reveal the death eater on the floor, still and quiet in a growing pool of his own blood. He turned franticly in search of his savior, only to find Bresa Mackay and the end of a shiny silver wand pointed at the deceased.

"What the …"

"No time." She grunted, wincing as she hobbled forward. The metal wand projected something with a bang and another death eater fell. "Watch my back."

Neither of them spoke a word after that, except when Charlie called out incantations. Death eaters fell, order members fell, fires raged, and light bulbs shattered. It lasted only minutes, perhaps half an hour, but the events of that night would be seared into the mind of Charlie Weasley until the day he expired.

When it was all over, he stood uncertainly in the middle of the swaying room trying to comprehend what had just happened. He could hardly process what he saw.

They were everywhere, unmoving and tainted by the alternating flickers of strobe lights and the occasional stunning beam.

Bodies.

Human bodies.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Charlie noted that the only remaining light at Club Bricks was still swirling around the smoky room, staining everything in pools of red.

Then the world went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Short chapter. Sorry readers. I've been rather ill, and chapter seventeen has been occupying more of my mental space than this one. Not to mention studying for finals, writing term papers … urg, there just aren't enough hours in the day! I hope to have the next chapter up sooner.

Out of curiosity, how was my pacing on this chapter? I'm still kinda green when it comes to action scenes, so any feedback is most welcome.

Oh, and did anyone happen to notice what (or better said who) was not seen much of? Wonder what she was up to…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum-** Course you didn't see it coming! Once again, you've been broadsided by the twisted twistyness of my plot twists. It's like being hit by the Knight Bus, courtesy of CMG (I've been filling in for Ernie, you see). So happy to hear that Stella is still loved, even with her faults beginning to show through. Dark past? What on earth do you mean? What is all this rubbish about Ted not being her daddy dearest? You must be mistaken, dear!

**Aqua-** Hater of cliffhangers, huh? Well, something tells me that this chapter is going to earn me some major smackage then (cowers in terror) Just as long as you keep your shiny wand where I can see it, I might be able to survive long enough to write the next chapter, haha.

**HarryPotterMagic**- Yeah, Charlie is DEFINITELY a guy. Gotta love him though, the big oaf. Stella does get worse, but that's just cause our darling boy doesn't like to think ill of anyone. (he really needs a lesson in real world thinking) He doesn't exactly save the day, but I'll deal with that in a while … muahaha!


	17. How Near, How Far

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Seventeen: How Near, How Far**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Somewhere there's music  
How faint the tune  
Somewhere there's heaven  
How high the moon  
There is no moon above  
When love is far away too  
Till it comes true  
That you love me as I love you_

_Somewhere there's music  
How near, how far  
Somewhere there's heaven  
It's where you are  
The darkest night would shine  
If you would come to me soon  
Until you will, how still my heart  
How high the moon_

_-'How High the Moon', Ella Fitzgerald_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a hard, grey sort of sunlight that settled on Diagon Alley one frosty October evening. Most of the shops were closing up for the night, most of the shopkeepers casting a wary eye about as they did before hurrying off to their families. Every week or so there would be one less face in that retreating crowd, one more door boarded shut instead of locked. Yet Charlie Weasley plodded home from Gringots with his robes open and trailing out behind him, a new burn on his left ear and a mind far the signs of coming darkness. He no longer really bothered to think about such far off things … or at least that's what he tried to tell himself.

The truth was that he hated thinking about that night in the club, the night when the war became real, the night that the history books would one day call the Battle of Bricks. They would say that it was one of the first pivotal skirmishes of the War of Prophecy. But Charlie didn't know that. He wouldn't have cared even if he did.

All that Charlie knew was that he was never able to look back on that night without a vile solution of shame and guilt sticking to his ribs. He felt like a coward for running from danger and freezing in the heat of the fight. And what was worse –if anything could possibly be worse than having your arse saved by a girl- he had fainted.

Fainted.

"_Charlie Weasley, pansy extraordinaire!"_ He grimaced to himself and tried to forget, retracing the familiar path back to his dingy little bin of an apartment.

The room was small: one window, a sink and a table, two chairs and the sleeper sofa. It felt too small, almost sinister, like it wanted to trap him and never let him out. Charlie hated being cooped up. Even as a kid he had spent most of his life outside, riding his toy broom or roughhousing with somebody. It didn't matter the weather or the hour, Charlie wanted to be in the garden. The only time he had ever really wanted to come in from playing was to curl up in the tattered old armchair next to his dad.

Nothing changed when he got to Hogwarts except the scenery, a tiny garden to the entire span of the school grounds. Finally free from his self-imposed duties of watching over his siblings, he spent every waking moment he could out in the exciting new space. There were mountains and valleys and trees (and the forbidden forest of course) and the whole place was teaming with creatures to observe.

Wallachia had just been the next logical step. Working outdoors, getting his hands dirty, flying half the day and most importantly, dragons. It had everything. Yet it only took him one night of sitting on his old school trunk and gazing out the tiny window of his new room in that drafty, whitewashed compound to feel more homesick than he ever had in seven years of school. He had peered out at the squat, ramshackle mess hall and the rough stone research barns, examining the mountains for the first time and missing his mother's cooking. Wallachia had seemed so intimidating then, so far from the things that made life tick. No Quidditch, no family, and very few people who even spoke a word of English. How many times in those first weeks had he wished that he could forget about Gryffindor courage and just go home?

And now that same ache for home was drowning him. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, moving out. That's what you were supposed to do once you graduated from your chosen training program. That's just how it worked. You left and found a life of independence and a place of your own. So he had.

And for the most part, Charlie hated it. He missed home, missed his family, missed the garden. But they were no longer his to miss.

And though the floor was full of potions stains and the walls were naked, on moving day his mum and dad had made sure that the closet and the second hand bookshelf found tenants. His robes and jeans were still shabby and faded. His books were still dog eared. The bloody room still felt like a cave or a prison cell with so little light. But it was his. That counted for something.

Didn't it?

Charlie didn't know, and frankly was too tired to care. It was much easier to push the thoughts to the back burner and concentrate on getting decent for his girlfriend. The new dragon was a finicky tyrant of an Opaleye who had an unusually persistent penchant for expressing his unhappiness in flames. Charlie chuckled at the beautiful thing's spirit, but wished he wasn't so often its target. He hunted down a fairly clean set of clothes and set out for his cupboard-sized excuse for a WC.

The door closed behind him with a creepy sort of thud, and he got to undressing as quickly as he could.

"_I hate this room."_

His robe –the sleeve freshly charred- fell off his shoulders. He glanced at the mirror, hoping that his burns would look prettier than they felt, lest Stella decide that he needed her professional attention instead of … other attentions.

"_Today has been the day from Hades. I need her."_

"_Usually she's always willing to listen to my problems."_ He thought as he unzipped his jeans (the ones with the kneezle stain behind the knee) and tossed them on the floor as well_. "Sure, she'll roll her eyes and tell me that I'm just transfiguring tea leaves into trees again, but after that she'll always really sit back and think and try to be helpful."_

"Her advice never works … but she does _try_." Charlie rumbled out loud to no one and left his boxers on the heap of dirty clothes as he turned on the grouchy waterworks. Pipes grunted and squealed, but eventually gave over and provided a bearable temperature.

He slipped in, wincing when hot water met minor burns and still thinking about her. _"I wish I knew what's wrong."_

In the weeks since that night at the club, a tiny sort of uneasiness had been growing between them. She had become increasingly secretive. Charlie often walked in on her writing letters and she never spoke of them, pretending they didn't exist or shoving them into parchment tubes before he could ask.

He knew better than to ask.

If Stella didn't offer the information upfront, nine times out of ten she wasn't going to tell you at all.

There were nights when she had 'appointments' and wasn't available to converge on the tartan sofa. She never discussed them. He sometimes felt a niggling worry about another man, but tried to let it go. And then there was the way she threw herself into her work. Late nights, late hours, bringing her research home and analyzing it until he was sure she would go blue in the face. But she wouldn't talk about that either.

"Big surprise, Charlie." He muttered, blindly searching for the soap and feeling the hot water run down his tired muscles. _ "Maybe I could convince her to rub my back tonight…"_

The hardest part was that Stella never told him where she went during the fighting. Charlie was secretly afraid to ask, not wanting to know for certain whether or not she had pulled a Slytherin and run. Those speculations were the most off-limits of all his thoughts. He locked them in an iron bound school chest and hurled them as far back into his mind as he could.

But he couldn't help himself, no matter how odd and disquieting her habits and her secretiveness. Everything about her was still wonderful. Kissing her. Touching her. Being touched. Even just watching telly with her and not saying a word. When they were together, they were happy.

"That's enough for me." He decided firmly, stepping out of the shower and shivering until he was again fully clothed.

By six o'clock, he had apparated into the kitchen of the unfinished flat.

By six twenty three, Bimby had forced two cups of tea down his throat.

By eight past seven, Quex had made his fourth assassination attempt.

Finally, at eight twenty, the sound of Stella's 'moetersickle' echoed in from a small garage behind the flat.

Charlie was on his sixth cup of tea and ready to pounce on somebody.

"Hey." She grumbled, snapping the door shut behind her. A bowl of pears on the countertop began to smoke as she passed by.

Obviously, she was far more upset than her mildly disgruntled attitude was revealing. His feelings of anger oddly evaporated. This was definitely an 'approach-with-extreme-caution' 'situation. Alright. He could handle that. Charlie was sure she couldn't possibly be as bad as the new dragon he was in charge of in the vaults. He would just have to be slow and careful about calming her down.

"What happened?" He kissed the top of her head.

"West Memorial." The bowl of smoking fruit burst into pink flames behind her just as she slumped her head down on the wobbly table. She didn't appear to notice, and Charlie became more worried. She was really getting upset about this, even if her voice wasn't showing it. He couldn't blame her. It was the fourth hospital this month to turn her down.

Still … he eyed up the charred remains of the edibles and wondered … She was always so sensible about these sorts of things: 'Life goes on Charlie' 'Rome wasn't built in a day Charlie' 'I can try again Charlie'. Stubbornly practical.

"_So why is this bothering her so much now?"_

"Stella, you alright?"

Sparks began to fly from one of the muggle contraptions, a square bit of metal with two slits that was called a 'tosser'.

"Fine." He muscles grew taught and she gritted her teeth quietly, not knowing that Charlie could see her even with her head still on the table. "I just had a long day."

"Stella…"

"Don't call me that!" She threw up her hands, and with her anger at an all time premium, the muggle box (Charlie was still at a bit of a loss as to why the thing was called a 'tosser') exploded in a shower of sparks.

"Err… sorry luv. I …"

"Miss Myra!" Bimby's beaky nose popped out of a small door near the windows, swiftly followed by the rest of her. "You is setting the kitchen on fire again!"

"_Virgen Santa_!" she yelped, joining the wizened house elf in an attempt to rescue the strange box. "Charlie, why didn't you tell me?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I didn't want to end up like the fruit. Here, let me help you with that."

Charlie really would have thought that she would have thought of this before him; She _was_ better at charms after all…

"Wait, don't use your…"

"Aguamenti." He intoned lazily.

"…wand."

The tosser made a terrible sizzling noise and instead of extinguishing the flames, the water only seemed to encourage them. It took quite some time for Stella to calm her machine, and by then all three of them had smoky hair and blackened eye-brows.

Bimby, in an uncharacteristically uncharitable mood with her cushion cover looking nearly as wrinkled as her tiny face, smartly informed him that "Sir should mind his own business. Sir should listen to Miss." It took a little while to pacify the tiny creature with apologies and secret promises of help capturing and eradicating the flying menace. (Quex was one thing that the both of them profoundly hated.)

When the kitchen was cleaned (No Bimby, I'll do this myself!) and the sweet little elf had retired back behind the door she entered from, Stella lead him down to the drafty basement and the comfort of the ugly sofa.

"Why do you even bother with those things?"

"What things?"

"Muggle rubbish."

"Because I'm a loon. Haven't you heard?" She slumped further away from him, drawing her itchy afghan around her shoulders and meddling with the 'klickur', a device that altered the programs inside the telly.

He had heard whispers circulating in the order and elsewhere that she wasn't quite right in the head, but tried not to pay attention to them. So what if other people talked behind her back? Who cared what they thought anyway? She was perfect just the way she was.

"Nah, you're not crazy. Just a little rough around the edges." He came over kissed the top of her head. "But these muggle bits though … Stella, you're nearly as bad as my dad."

"What?" She whined.

"You and all your … thingys. You practically live like a muggle. You don't floo or apparate or do anything the normal way! Are you a witch or not?"

"I think we've established the answer to that question, gatito."

He blushed, catching her reference. Memories of the other night on the tartan sofa bubbled to the front of his mind, but he pushed them down quickly before he really started to turn redder than his many freckles.

"What I meant to ask was … why do you fancy those things so much?"

"They're … easier."

"Easier? I almost kill myself every time I get near the bloody contraptions. They're the most confusing things I've ever seen!"

"Maybe for you. You grew up with two pureblood parents. But they're not so hard to understand, ever since Ted explained them to me. They're rather interesting really."

"Ted?"

"Sure. He was muggle born. Did I ever tell you that they bought me all those appliances upstairs? They knew I couldn't cook if my life depended on it, so that was my graduation gift."

"You can't cook?" He was a bit downcast.

She only laughed. "I can't do much of anything. I don't cook or sew or bake or clean or mend. I have such a terrible black thumb that Professor Sprout actually threw me out of three of the greenhouses. Said the plants were going to tear up their roots and run for their lives if she didn't." Charlie found it hard to picture sweet, dumpy little Professor Sprout throwing anyone out of anywhere. It made her sound like one of those 'bouncy-men' at the muggle clubs. "I only do a few things, but I like to think I do them well. Even if the general population at large begs to differ…" She added sourly.

Charlie scrambled to take her mind off the subject. "But I still don't understand. What's the point of making food the muggle way? Bimby loves to cook."

"I don't really make food, it's just coffee and toast and smoothies … things like that. I like knowing that I can do something the muggle way, the harder way. I … it's good to know that there's more to me than just my magic, that it's just one small piece of who I am. I don't want it to define me or hem me in."

Charlie did not understand a word she was saying.

"I envy them, gatito. I guess a little part of me always wished that I wasn't a witch. It would be so much simpler that way, so much … cleaner. I wouldn't have to worry about … a lot of things. They don't know about any of this: war, blood prejudice, the d … he-who-must-not-be-named … not any of it.

And besides, muggles have a lot that the wizarding world has missed out on. They can make incredible machines, invent technology that I don't even understand, and oh! Their medicine! If I could get half of those ideas of theirs to work with magical patients, I would die a happy woman.

I admire them. They are at a disadvantage, but they go on anyways. It's not like they know that, but still. They may not have magic, but in a way they make their own."

"What do you mean, make their own?"

She sighed and thought for a few commercials.

"When I was really little, sometimes I would pretend that I could fly up there. Up to the moon." She pointed out the tiny basement window and into the night sky. "It was my secret place where nobody could get to me and everything always made sense. Everybody was good and kind and wonderful." After a moment she snorted good-naturedly and shook her head, as though brushing away a cobweb from her memories. "I wasn't the brightest little bulb in the box."

"Bulb in the …?"

"It's a muggle expression. Never mind. Point is, I always had this secret dream of figuring out how to actually get there. It's stupid, but like I said, I wasn't exactly a genius. I went through all of 'Buela's books, even got the poor old thing to drag me down to the Bibliotheca, but I never could find any magical means of getting there. It's just too far away, and there's no oxygen … a thousand reasons why it would never work."

"Well, every kid has weird ideas. I had an invisible Dragon named Heathcliff who chased my little brothers for me." Charlie grinned sheepishly and placed a hand over hers. "We all gotta grow up sometime Stella."

"That's just the thing." She twinkled. "My juvenile delusions were real."

"You can't be serious?" Even as he said it, he wondered traitorously about her sanity. The woman was a terrible liar so he would know if she was trying to tease him again, but there was not an ill-concealed grin in sight.

She nodded. "Ted gave me a used collection of history books as an acceptance gift the day I got my letter from Hogwarts. On the train ride I stumbled over a section about how muggles had figured out how to get to the moon."

"Muggles?" Were muggles even capable of something like that? He supposed they weren't utterly daft, but they couldn't outdo even the stupidest wizard either.

"Yeah. Shocker, huh? They invented these shuttles and spacesuits and rockets and they really did it. They've been going into space for decades now." He wasn't about to ask what 'shuttles' and 'spacesuits' were.

"Huh. They do have some bright ideas once in a while, those muggles, don't they? Bet you were dead chuffed when you found out."

"Actually, I wish I'd never read the thing." She smiled quietly, closing her eyes and faintly shaking her head again.

"Whad'you mean?"

"Oh, it's possible to go there, but only a few people have ever done it."

"That doesn't mean you can't."

She looked at him like he was five years old. "Yes it does, gatito. I'd have to be part of the American military … uh, sort of like their Aurors … I'd have to have more luck than Felix Felicis himself to get into their space program, and oh yeah, I'd have to be a muggle … unless I wanted the shuttle to blow up because of my genetic magic and kill me, that is."

"Oh."

He couldn't think of much else to say.

"That's why I wish I'd never read that book. It's one thing to dream about something that you know is impossible. You can make peace with that, you know? It's just a fantasy, a daydream.

But then suddenly it's not a daydream anymore. It's really real, it's possible, there's hope! Just … not for you."

That soft, iron tipped smile was etched into every line of her face.

"It's like trying to hold the moon in your hands. It looks so close, doesn't it? Like you could just coax it down and keep it for a rainy day." She raised a hand to the night sky and placed her forefinger and thumb around the speckle of light with cool, tangy sadness brushing her voice.

"But it never does come down. In the end, it doesn't matter how bad you want something. If you can't have it, you can't have it." She sighed and pinched her fingers together, blocking out the moon. "You learn to accept it and move on. You find something new to dream about."

Charlie thought about that for a minute. A lot of what she had said tonight made no sense to him, but that last bit struck some kind of chord.

"What do you dream about now?" He asked quietly, looking steadily into her eyes and asking for an answer that even he didn't know.

Stella smiled again, but this time it was soft and genuine and shy. She slipped over next to him and laid her hand on his arm.

"Give you three guesses."

**.ψ.**

A few days later, Bimby ushered an irritable gray figure into the kitchen.

"Would Sir like some tea?"

When the figure didn't answer she quietly exited, leaving it to its thoughts. The figure didn't even notice. One can hardly blame him though.

Harry Potter was a high-strung wrecking ball of tension. His friends were fighting again, Ginny was crying, and the only idea he'd had for the location of another horcrux had failed. The only good thing about the afternoon was that no one had buckled about him visiting Myra by himself. In fact, all three of them had been too shattered to do anything but crawl up the steps of Grimmauld Place and fall into dreamless sleep. Five and a half days without real rest could do that to a person.

They told him not to worry, they'd be fine, they just needed a bit of a kip. He was trying hard to believe them. He needed them.

Yet he knew that this was his fight.

Oh there were plenty of people who wanted to help. Tonks and Charlie were good listeners, even if they couldn't be told everything. Lupin was being a git –still silently implying his disapproval of Harry going off on his own and trying to act like his father or something- … but he was still Lupin. That meant something. The Weasleys were still sort of the family he'd never had, but they felt the same as Lupin. Harry didn't need that. He didn't need anyone. He could do this alone.

Then there was Ginny … well, what was there to say about Ginny? And of course Ron and Hermione would stand by him till the day Uncle Vernon cracked and went about in lipstick and high heels. Even Myra Estrella was useful as a doctor … err … healer, anyway. He tried not to pay attention to how calculating that sounded, thinking about people in terms of their usefulness. Was this why Scrimgour was such a wank? Hell, even the Ministry probably had good intentions somewhere down deep (very, very deep, the gits).

But good intentions and loyalty would only get them so far, and somehow Harry knew that he would always be alone. He had lost his parents. He had practically signed Sirius's death certificate himself. And Dumbledore … There was no one to depend on, no one to shield him anymore. This was his war to win or lose.

Once when he was in primary school, the class had gone to see the Wallace Collection in London. Harry wasn't much taken with art and really only remembered trying to doge Dudley and his gang, but he vaguely recalled hiding behind a statue of a muscly man holding the world on his shoulders. That bloody statue was probably the only other person on earth who knew how he felt right now. Pretty pathetic, huh?

There was so much to do. How was one person supposed to take all of this on? How was he supposed to win? He wasn't strong or smart or brave enough to make this work. He just wanted to get this right –had to get this right- but Harry had no idea what he was doing.

It didn't make things easier knowing that everyone was depending on him, watching and waiting, praying that their faith in him would not be misplaced. So many people thought that he was invincible, all powerful, the second incarnation of Dumbledore or something. But they saw a lie. They looked at him and saw a fantasy that they had created so that they could sleep at night. They were depending on a hero that didn't exist.

Harry wondered what the important people thought about him. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the Weasleys, Lupin… the people that mattered.

Would Dumbledore smile with his twinkling eyes?

Would his parents be proud of him, if they could see?

Would Sirius clap him on the shoulder and tell him he was a good man?

"It doesn't matter." He told himself firmly. "They're dead, Harry. They can't see you."

He was cut short when Myra sailed into the room, her eyebrows blackened and her hair frizzled in its little hairnet. She wore an extremely tattered old robe and a pair of glasses that made Professor Trelawney's seem commonplace. The lenses were thick as the bottom of a coke bottle and dead convex, causing her eyes to appear to nearly bulge out of her head. The owlish, knobby rims and the leather straps that secured the things to her head made the whole kit look like antique aviator goggles … if aviator goggles ever flashed blue and gold diagrams on the surface of their lenses that is.

"Harry, come in!" She motioned to one of the untrustworthy kitchen chairs and he was thankful. His left shoulder was aching from the fall down the pipes in Myrtle's bathroom, and his head felt like it was full of tunneling goblins who were all trying to mine ore out of his brain.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon." She sat down across from him and folded her hands. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

The look on her face was bland but he felt her silently asking 'what were you looking for?' He hadn't told them anything. Not anything important anyway. Her just enough to see if she had any books on the subject, and Charlie … well, he'd just slipped in mentioning them to Charlie. All that the older boy knew was that they were dark magic, that the four of them were going to destroy them, and that they had something to do with death. Despite Charlie's usually calm, easy manner, even that much information had frightened him.

No one else knew anything more, except Ron, Hermione, and Gin. And it was going to stay that way.

"No. No luck." At least he didn't have to lie about that. They hadn't found anything in the Chamber except rat skeletons and snake skins. Lately lying had just been bothering Harry more and more, almost making the scars on his hand twitch every time he did it. "God a bit of a scrape though … and I need more of that stuff for my head."

He hated to admit this sort of weakness.

"Alright, have a seat. Let me look." She dragged a dubious looking chair over to the cupboards and pulled out the same packing box of supplies while he found less shaky perch and started to remove his jumper … very slowly. "Nasty scratch there Harry."

"You're not helping."

Myra tisked and shook her head. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, kid." She started to clean out the gash. It stung like a swarm of bees.

After a little while of working in silence, she spoke up again.

"Nyms is getting married next week. She wanted me to ask you to come if you could."

He grunted noncommittally. It would be great to see Remus get married and all, but there just wasn't time! Horcruxes to find, a dark lord to kill, a world to save … was he just supposed to pull an extra hour out of thin air or something?

"I don't suppose I could get you to talk to Mr. L … Remus … for a while, could I? Maybe in exchange for pulling a few strings and getting you some more of that Frenis solution? Oh, knock it off, kid! I didn't mean that you should let him corner you and keep you from … whatever it is you're doing." She gave him that look again.

Bloody hell! Was anyone ever going to leave him alone?

"You're old enough not to need your hand held now, but the man does seem to care about you for some unfathomable reason." She rolled her eyes and went back to his wound. "And besides, he keeps hinting at Nyms that she should tell him what you're up to. It's driving her insane."

He knew it! He never should have mentioned it around those two! Charlie either! They were all liabilities!

"Oh don't frown at me like that. She hasn't said a word. I just think you ought to talk to him. Dumbledore created the order for just this sort of…"

"Leave off." He tensed his shoulders and immediately regretted it.

"Alright, fine then. But kid … Harry. Even if you won't talk to him, I … I do need something else from you." She said stiffly.

"Great. Just fucking brilliant!" Harry exploded. He was sick of being taken advantage of at every turn. "Does everybody on this whole bloody planet want something from the great Harry Potter? Ahh!"

"Would you hold still, you ego maniac? You're going to make that thing even worse, and then I'm really going to have to do a number on you!" He sat down. "And besides, that's not what I meant. I just want a bit of a … favor."

She reminded him strongly of Slughorn just then. "What sort of favor?"

"Let me fight." The words were crisp, hard edged. "I know you don't want anyone else involved … but, just let me fight when you need another wand."

"Huh?"

"I don't really want to explain this to you kid. Just … let me fight." He heard a deep intake of breath. "Please."

This was new.

Harry was used to people bullying him. He was used to people sucking up, to being fawned over and tricked and used and manipulated.

But it had been a while since someone had just asked, just said please.

"Why?"

He felt her finish tucking in the last of the bandages around his shoulder. "There you are. Should be right as rain in a few days." She commented, ignoring his question and gathering up her supplies.

"Why?"

He turned and watched her set down a roll of those long bandages. Her jaw was clenched and when she looked up at him there was determination in every line of her body.

"I have some old scores to settle." She stated in a firm, quiet voice. "I'll do anything you like in return. Get you illegal potions, pass you information from the order, harbor an army in this apartment for you if I have to, but kid … I need to fight."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"You should go get a nap while you can. The rest of them are going to be up in a bit."

"I'm not going to agree to anything unless you give me something here."

"Why am I fixated? Why do I need a reason? I'm mad, remember? Maybe I just have this crazy urge to go out and zap people. Maybe it's just how I get my jollies. Ever consider that? Cause I'll tell you, half the order thinks that's the God's honest truth anyways. Why shouldn't you?" That same bloody bitterness was back. It was really starting to piss him off.

"What happened to you?"

She smiled at him, a little offended and a little indulgent. It was a weird combination. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're nearly as cracked as I am. People aren't just born like that."

She stared at him intensely for a split second, then sighed. "Don't be too sure about that kid."

"I am sure. Dumbledore told me once that it's our choices that define us, nothing else." It felt like he was baring his soul, talking about Dumbledore. "I'd trust his opinions with my life."

"Hmm, well that does sound like him, the loony old codger." There was a sort of distant affection in Myra's voice. "Let's walk, shall we? You'll need some sleep if you want to get back to it."

They walked down several dark hallways before Harry decided to ask again. "So what was it?"

"Why am I loony? Tit for tat with you, huh kid? Alright then. I can respect that." She thought for a little while, the sound of their steps the only noise to be heard.

"A lot of things, I guess. I … Well, I loved someone who couldn't love me back. Not the way I wanted them to. It's hard, that. Numbs you up inside, freezes you. Hard to get past. I did some stupid things when I was younger." Her words were short and choppy, like they cost dear to say out loud.

"A bloke?" The thought popped out before he could stop it. She was this worn out and tired because of a bloke? He made a mental note never to break Ginny's heart.

"¡_Ojalá_!" She muttered. "No kid, not a boy. Family."

"Family?" He couldn't help asking.

"Yeah."

Maybe they had more in common than he thought.

"I can understand that, I guess. The Dursleys weren't a bloody walk in the park."

She looked up questioningly.

"My Aunt and Uncle and their kid, Dudley. Took me in when my parents… Erm. Right. Nightmares, the lot of them. Compared to them, your family is a dream, even if Tonks is dead clumsy and can't keep her mouth shut."

"Hey, leave her out of this! This has nothing to do with…"

"Then who are you talking about?" Harry wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush.

She exhaled through her nose and wouldn't look at him, concentrating on the hallway.

"Drop it kid."

The topic was closed.

They soon reached a door and she opened it to reveal a bedroom. The room was very bare and smelled like sawdust. It was good enough, he figured. A mid-sized, crumple-eared little dog tried to follow them in, but Myra wasn't having any of it.

"Na-ah, ya crazy mut. This is a room for people. Go on, scat, before you make me sneeze!"

The dog was not pleased, but after a minute it trotted down the hall to find another place to sleep. Harry felt kinda sorry for the thing. After Sirius, he'd developed a fondness for dogs.

"You didn't have to do that. I could've just slept in Ginny's room."

"As I've said before kid, I wouldn't recommend doing that anywhere in the near vicinity of one Charlie Weasley unless you want to loose your ability to breathe. Get some rest, now." She closed the door briskly.

He laid there on the bed for hours just staring at the ceiling, mulling over the way Myra had talked about family. He thought about the Dursleys and what he'd learned the last time he saw them: how he realized that they weren't quite the soulless monsters he'd always thought them. He couldn't hate them, not completely anymore. They weren't saints and he certainly didn't _love_ them, but … Aunt Petunia had a little bit of justification, even if it didn't excuse her from what she'd done to him.

And then he started thinking about his own family, his real family. His parents. About the few brief glimpses he'd gotten of them in memories and mirrors and old photographs. It was so _hard_, knowing that those glimpses would be the only chances he'd ever get to see them or feel their love. Even after sixteen years without them, part of him still was wishing that he'd wake up and find them alive. What he wouldn't give to see them, just one more time!

Then it struck him as sharply as the lightning bolt on his forehead:

Maybe he could…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** To thank you all for your continued patience with my speed, I hope you enjoyed seeing our hero in the shower. (He would blush if he knew we were watching…)

I just have to say that I love you readers. That sounds so sappy (I know it) but it's terribly true, especially in the case of those beautiful souls who take the time out of their busy lives to review my humble work. Reviews just make my day. Seriously, I just get this little smile whenever I read them! So in light of my deep gratitude and appreciation, I'm going to give the reviewers something they've been after for ages: ANSWERS. Here's the deal. Y'all send me a question about the story that you're dying to have answered, and I'll pick the most interesting one to reply to. You'll actually get answers from me for once, instead of cryptic ways of saying 'I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-so-keep-reading'. This is a one time only deal and obviously I can't reply to any questions that reveal the _major_ plot secrets, but if your questions are sensible and not 'what's the end of the story' type of things, I'm glad to provide a little joy for the readers. Be creative!

For those brits out there reading this fic, Charlie's name for the toaster should be particularly amusing, I hope. For the non-British speakers in the reading community, I'll explain the humor. According to english2american dot com: _"Tossing" in the UK is masturbating. Coincidentally, to call someone a "tosser" is to suggest that they have an overly intimate relationship with Pam and her five sisters. _(I found this explanation quite amusing really) Now do you understand our poor hero's confusion?

¡Ojalá! - (I wish)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum-** Thanks. I'm glad it came out alright. Hope you like this (longer) chapter better.

**Randomisation-** Hey there! Welcome to the reviewing family. Come on in, pull up a comfy chair. Drop in any time, lol. Thanks so much for your blush inducing compliments. It's so great to hear from new people, and I'm incredibly flattered by your opinion of my work. Thanks. Hmm. Ted and Stella … a very important connection there … too bad I can't spoil the surprise for you! Hard lessons? She could have been… Guess you'll just have to keep reading… (I know, I'm a terrible person grins)

**Aqua-** Yes, those darn cliffs … the way you put it reminds me of that scene in 'The Princess Bride'. Have you seen it? If you haven't you should! And if you have, perhaps you know what I mean? wiggles eyebrows at you No, I did not kill off Stella … this chapter. That is no guarantee of survival in any future chapters, mind you! (I love being an author; it's the god complex you see. I can just smite characters down out of the clear blue sky … muahaha!) I'm so relieved to hear that the pacing was acceptable. I was nervous about it, I must admit. Thanks for all your kind words.


	18. Path To Perdition, Road To Rome

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Eighteen: Path to Perdition, Road to Rome**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Someday I'm gonna go out to the country  
I'll drive til the highway ends  
Chasing after picture perfect sunsets  
To take my breath away_

_I'm tired of living in the city  
The world's got me tied on a string  
Wanderlust has overcome me  
Like Lewis and Clark I'll dream  
There's a million different ways to go  
Only God can know where I will call my home_

_Love lead me on  
Where no one else has gone  
Faith keep me strong  
Love lead me on_

_The open road can be so lonely  
I'm longing for someone to love  
If only I could share my new surroundings  
Open the doors above  
There's a million different ways to go  
Only God can know where I will call my home_

_Love lead me on  
Where no one else has gone  
Faith keep me strong  
Love lead me on  
Faith keep me strong  
Love lead me home_

_-'Love Lead Me On', The Afters_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Tonks tiptoed into the flat and slid her key back inside her robes, hoping not to wake little Bimby.

She had quite a soft spot for the strait-laced little dear, and shared Ace's concerns about her declining health. The sweet elf would never in a thousand years admit to it, but cool mornings tormented her soft old joints, poor thing. She put all of her Auror training to use trying not to break anything and cause a ruckus.

This flat always made her a little sad, a reminder that they had both moved out of the house where they'd grown up. It was great to see Ace when she had the time –time was becoming dear lately, with more reports of dark arts activity and challenging assignments pouring into the office every day- but it was a bittersweet reminder that life was tugging them both down different roads. Childhood with Ace had been rocky at first, but no one could ever say it hadn't been exciting. Now they were trading in school girl fun for real lives. It was sobering and exhilarating all at once.

"_Can't be helped, Tonks. Be glad you get to see her this much."_

The pink-haired witch stopped short in the kitchen door with a grin despite her uncharacteristically somber thoughts, observing the scene before her. A pile of notes and some empty parchment tubes were stacked on the table. Bimby was meddling with something that smelled divine. A lumpy figure lolled in one of the tippity chairs. Tonks munched on her gum and bubbled gleefully inside.

Ace was not bent over her research, a first in years as far as Tonks could recall. Instead, the older girl cradled her precious acoustic guitar and rumbled along to the melody with her feet propped up on the table. In a ratty old t-shirt and a pair socks, she sprawled out and let her wet hair hang down while a fierce wind pummeled the window casings. Her croaky singing made Tonks smile and blow a bubble.

_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter   
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_

Bimby was silently shaking her prim little head, every soft white hair in place and concentration on the fireplace. There she shepherded a heavenly little shoal of kippers in a pan that made Tonks's mouth water. She would never squeak a word, but the table was obviously not intended for feet, not even the feet of her Miss.

_Here comes the sun _

_Here comes the sun  
And I say _

Tonks popped another wad of gum and started to recognize the song.

_It's all right_

Charlie Weasley was officially the most smashing bloke on earth. (After Remus of course.) She was going to have to get him something spectacular for his birthday. Something better than better than last time at least. (How was she supposed to know that he was allergic to liverwort?) It didn't matter. This time he deserved a broomstick for every day of the year!

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting  
_

She hadn't seen Ace this cheerful since they were ankle-biters. With her eyes closed and her head tilted back in the soft morning light, Tonks's sister looked like she was ten years old again.

_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear _

Her singing had never gotten them any gigs of course, since it just barely squeaked past the not-quite-out-of-tune-category compared to Queenie, but Ace wasn't nearly this bad at night (after a whole lot of warming up) and made a fair back up singer then.

Still, years of listening to the girl warble in the shower had taught the rest of the family to stay away from the bathroom in the morning.

_Here comes the sun,_

_Do do do do_

_Here comes the sun,_  
_And I say_

However much Ace sounded like a stepped on kneezle right now, Tonks felt a sparkle of giddiness in her spleen. That was the sound of joy. Mad, explosive, wriggling joy that just about made her want to kiss someone (namely Remus).

_It's all right_

Her sister was singing. Her wedding was only a few weeks away. Her back was almost completely healed from that little scrape at the night club. She had just been selected as part of a special taskforce assigned to some sort of high security mission. Everything was right with the world.

_It's all right _

What more could a girl ask for?

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes  
Sun, sun, sun, here it_ – WHA?

There was a booming tumble and Ace came inches from flying out of the chair. It was nice to see someone else be clumsy for a change.

"Nyms!"

"Don't fall off there, sis." She giggled.

"Good morning, Miss Nymphadora." Bimby took her appearance as a matter of fact. She hopped down with the kippers and a plate appeared on the table.

"Wotcher." She pulled out a chair and eyed up the delicious little sea creatures. "Got enough of those for two? Or maybe some bacon?"

Bimby waggled a long, bony little finger with a motherly smile and another plate popped into existence. "How many would Miss like?"

The stack of notes and the pencils -Tonks had never really caught on to those things. Give her a quill any day- disappeared while Ace was carefully leaning her guitar against the sill. She shook her head and blew another happy bubble. Bimby was always trying to keep her sister's mind off her work. She had to admit, the poor dear really had a job cut out for her. Ace was very laid back most of the time, but there were times when she could be as single minded as a man when she wanted to, and ever since Mungo's had let her go she'd been positively rabid about her research, hoping to get a grant.

Ace was a practical girl down to her bones, (something Tonks was incapable of even on pain of death) and could worry about her finances with the best of them. She was always out to make some extra dosh when she could: careful investments, this flat, the occasional business agreement. Course', Ace's idea of a business agreement bordered on blackmail rather often … maybe it was a good thing she was focused on research right now.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Wotcher to you too, sunshine."

"The rest of the girls won't be here for an hour. I was gonna get a little kip before they did." She pouted before getting up and meandering into the bathroom a few doors down the hall.

"We're only getting together for some elevenses and a bit of practice." Tonks blurted out after her. "Who cares if I'm early? Don't tell me you aren't just leaping to see your favorite sister?"

"I care. I wanted to sleep." Ace returned, hair up in her ratty old snood. Even Tonks had always found that ugly thing rather odd.

"_What a stupid word. Snood!"_ She thought, not paying much attention to her sister whinge. "_Sounds like some sort of diseased waterfowl."_

"And I'm not jumping anywhere." Ace muttered as she started in on the salty fish. Tonks found her stomach rumbling just watching. "Not unless you brought the solution for the Artemisian equation along with your bottomless stomach."

"Cheerful today, aren't we?" Tonks jibed blithely. She was used to this. All she really wanted right now was a peck of those kippers.

"_El horno no está para bolos_. Not at this hour of the morning." Her sister grunted, making short work of breakfast.

"Up late again?"

Another grunt.

"You should really ease up a bit. This whole bash on attitude is lovely and all, but you're not indestructible. Get some rest, huh?"

Narrowed eyes glared at her from across the knobbly table. "You of all people should understand why I'm doing this! You love the man, don't you?"

For the hundredth time she wondered if Ace's obsession with her work was a healthy thing.

"Of course I love Remus, but that's got nothing to do with you killing yourself. Can't get anything done if you're dead, can you? We both appreciate the sentiment and all, but I'd rather have my sister than a cure. If this has really got such a hold on you, maybe you should take a holiday or something. I'm sure old Belby'd give you a week off."

Ace snorted and went back to her foraging. "You know I can't do that. We're really on the edge of a breakthrough this time, especially now that I have a lab assistant."

"That kid? He looked like more of a hindrance than a help the last time I dropped by."

"He's alright. Knows what he's doing around the greenhouse at least."

"Well thank Circe for that!" Tonks snickered, knowing it was one of Ace's great weaknesses. "You can kill a plant at thirty paces."

"Yeah, I was lucky that Professor Sprout was willing to let him come on weekends for a work study program. He does a pretty good job, as long as I keep away from the cauldrons. I just wish I had him there more often. It makes everything run so much quicker."

"If things are getting done faster, why are you still burning the blinking midnight oil?"

Ace sighed and pushed back from the table. Only the drippings were left on her plate. "There just aren't enough hours in the day. Research, Order work, shifts at The Basement, recruiting nights, seeing Ted and Auntie A. … It's times like these a girl starts to wish for a time turner. And now there's Charlie…"

"How is that going?"

Tonks usually had more opportunities to hear Charlie's take on their relationship that she did her sister's, simply because she saw more of him. Since she was still a sprog in the auror hierarchy she usually got the grunt assignments, and for the past few months most of her day to day work had consisted of security for top priority vaults under Gringots, patrolling known caches of dark arts objects and impeding removal from certain accounts tied to known death eaters. She and her sister's boyfriend had taken to long conversations when they were on break.

"Good." Ace yawned.

"Just good?" Knowing a lot about things from his side of the fence, Tonks was curious to hear her take on matters.

The sleepy girl rolled her eyes. "Better than good then. It's … I don't know … It's just good." A half pleased, half titchy air hung over her.

"You say that like you aren't sure."

"I'm sure." She said defensively.

"Have you told him that?" Charlie had confided that he was happy, but uncertain about exactly what Ace felt for him. It was awfully sweet as far as she was concerned.

"You know my track record with men, Nyms. I'm just happy with things the way they are. I'd rather not rock the boat."

"Codswallop." Tonks replied conversationally, reflecting on a recent conversation they'd had and reaching for a strawberry. "Boy's mad for you."

"You really do sound like a Victorian schoolboy. Honestly, codswallop?" Ace ignored the implied request and retrieved a pear from the counter.

Tonks was used to the jabs at her quirky vocabulary. "Fine then. Don't follow my sage advice."

"Since when have you ever had sage advice?"

"Since the last time I talked to Mrs. Weasley. I was over at their house making a few plans for the ceremony, and she mentioned something that I think you could use to-"

"I don't need advice from Charlie's mother. Woman hates me." She made a disgusted face.

"You look like a puking flobberworm when you do that." Tonks noted.

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

"Do so! Here, I'll show you!" She concentrated on the image in the back of her head.

"Eww, Nyms. That's so disgusting. Change it back."

"Only if you listen to my wise counsel."

"Oh, fine!"

The pink-headed witch returned to her original, non-goo-covered state with a smug smirk. "You're gonna thank me when you hear this, broomstick's honor."

"Oh, get on with it!"

"Well, I was talking to Mrs. Weasley, and I think I figured out a way to get Charlie to do what you've been trying to convince him to do."

"You mean…"

"Yep."

"Are you sure it's going to work?" Ace leaned in, eyes shining.

"Your kippers is done, Miss Nymphadora."

**.ψ.**

"_Why did I ever agree to this?"_ Charlie wondered, not for the first time that afternoon. _"Why, why, why?"_

Another bump in the road sent a wave of nausea through him. He closed his eyes tightly and wished with all his might that this would just be over soon.

As he had once predicted, Stella's motersickle was a less than ideal means of transportation. He'd never really cared for his dad's Ford Angelina -the one drive that he had ever taken in it- but this was a thousand times more gut wrenching. The evil thing sputtered and groaned and howled like a rumbling Ironbelly mating call, causing any passenger to vibrate from head to foot. His bum had gone completely numb from the constant jostling after several hours on the disturbing contraption.

Stella had been so proud of the creature when she first introduced him to it. "You'll love it, Charlie. Can't be that much different than a broomstick, after all."

This was nothing like a broomstick.

On a broomstick, you did not feel like you were going to get pitched headfirst over the front end and then gutted by the thing you'd just been riding. Sure, there was a little turbulence sometimes, but you and the broom were like one being. You were liquid motion, smooth and daring. Wind and precipitation were only secondary factors. On this hell demon, you felt every little rock on the ground, every uneven surface of the road. The Angelina was a swim in the frog pond compared to this.

The only good thing in this whole terrifying situation was that he got to hold Stella. Granted, he was holding on to her for dear life, but it was holding none the less. During the rare moments when he could stop envisioning his fiery doom, Charlie had to admit that she felt smashing nestled into his death grip.

She fit there perfectly, snug in his lap and against his chest. Under her leather jacket she was soft and curved in places that set his mind down paths his mother would have sternly disapproved of. He wished that their helmets weren't in the way so that he could kiss the back of her neck, something he'd just figured out she liked a few nights ago. Actually, he wished that there could be a lot less of everything between them.

Less clothes, to be specific.

A certain part his anatomy quite liked the idea. (He hoped Stella wouldn't notice.)

Merlin's beard, having her in his arms like this almost made the whole terrible experience worth it.

Almost.

As they exited another little town, she shifted her leg again and kicked some part of the monster. He really hated this part. Obviously the beast didn't like to be kicked, because whenever she did it, it grumbled and went faster. That made his stomach right unhappy with him.

How in the name of gulping gargoyles did she ever get him on this thing? He wondered again, trying to keep from sicking.

Alright, he knew how she had done it. Blackmail. Pure blackmail.

Somehow, Stella had discovered that his mum had invited them to a family dinner. Invited probably wasn't the right word. More like dictated. When mum wanted to be sentimental and 'have her babies come home', you either went or you spent the next several weeks buried in guilt inducing letters delivered by a particularly bedraggled Errol.

When he found out that mum wanted Stella to come this time, he had been a bit suspicious –neither of them really seemed to get along- but decided that he would just have to find a way to persuade his girl. He wasn't sure _why_ exactly he wanted his family to like her … it wasn't as if they were going to get married or anything … but he knew that she should probably come.

He had figured on having to take her out to a very nice dinner to get her to do it, but to his surprise she knew about the whole thing.

"Sure I'll come, gatito. I'll even bring dessert. There's just one thing I want you to do for me…"

He should have known.

At long blessed last, Ottery St. Catchpole rumbled into view. There had never been a more beautiful sight in all his life. Charlie escaped the clutches of the creature as soon as Stella killed it's purring a few hundred yards from the burrow.

"Like riding a broomstick, she says!" He snatched off his helmet as she calmly removed her jacket and exchanged it for a warm robe, the bike happily lagging along beside her like a harmless puppy. "Easy as pie, she says! Then once I'm on all I get is 'hold on to your hippogryphs, Charlie!' More like hold on to my lunch! That is the _last _time I ever listen to you, Stella."

She just rolled her eyes and gave him a little shove. "Don't be such a baby. It wasn't that bad."

"Wasn't that bad? Wasn't that bad? Like hell it wasn't that bad! I'm never coming near that monster again!"

"Oh hush. We're almost there." She began to fidget with the yellow flowers embroidered on the homey brown cloak.

As his heart began to slow and his stomach cautiously crept down from somewhere in his throat, he started to realize just how uneasy she was about all of this.

Charlie was sorely tempted to put an arm around her waist, to pull her up next to him as they walked towards the door. He tried to argue with himself that it was a comforting action, but knew she wouldn't appreciate it the way anyone else would. She probably wouldn't be bothered by it much -especially while she was this nervous- but she probably wouldn't find it reassuring either.

By the time they got to the front stoop, she was almost twitching.

She made as if to knock, but he just dragged her inside with out ceremony and crowed out an "I'm home!" as they stepped into the ramshackle den. Bill grinned up at him lazily from the sofa and Fleur gracefully sauntered over and embraced Stella. She was still far too attractive. It just shouldn't be legal.

As usual, it was a good thing that no one in the house was a Legilimens.

"Oh Charlie!" His mother rushed out of the kitchen and smothered him in a welcoming hug, her wand stuck in a pocket of her flowered apron as always. "I was afraid you were lost! Did you get hurt on that freakish machine of her- oh. Hello, Myra. I didn't see you there."

"Mrs. Weasley." Stella replied levelly, trying to stare the older woman down.

If his mum noticed her tone, she gave no sign of it. "How was your trip then? Charlie, you're chilled to the bone! You should come into the kitchen and have a nice hot cuppa next to the fireplace. How does that sound?"

"Mum …"

"I brought some dessert." Stella proffered a red metal bowl covered with something called 'aloominum foyil', ignoring the way Mrs. Weasley continued to take no notice of her.

Charlie cringed inside as his mum lifted the foyil, looking like she expected to be attacked by whatever was inside.

He wasn't completely sure that she wouldn't be.

Stella, for all her wonderful strengths, could not cook. When she did, it was not edible or had strange ingredients that he had never heard of, like 'soy' and 'toe-foo'. Mum was unlikely to appreciate the sentiments.

"This is … lovely Myra." Stella was red. "Fruit. Imagine that." Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen, and called over her shoulder. "Charlie, would you please come help me for a little while?

He was torn, wanting both to be with his mum and his girlfriend. Thankfully Mr. Weasley stepped in and saved the day with a covert wink for his son. "Myra, was that a motersickle I saw outside?"

Stella perked up a bit. "Yeah. It's a Triumph. Gift from a friend a few years back. I can show you if you'd like…" They walked out the door, and Charlie soon found himself in the kitchen.

"Please mum, be a little easier on her."

"What do you mean, dear? I haven't done a thing!"

He grunted in frustration, then went back to cooking. It was no use arguing with her. She wasn't going to do anything unless she wanted to. Charlie let the soothing sound of the snick-snicking knife massage his tired nerves and jumpy stomach. The smells of good home cooking wafted over him and brought back memories as he worked side by side with his mum.

As he stood there carving the ham, he saw years of life pass before him. He watched little Percy tattle on them for sneaking afters, baby Ginny sick on his first girlfriend, visions of shorter twins overcoming proud Ronnie in tickle wars. It was good to look back, but he was beginning to realize that these memories were only that: memories. There would be no more life for him in this place, not the way it used to be. He would always find welcome, always find love here, but it just wasn't the same.

It wasn't home anymore.

Wallachia had always seemed like one long school year. Almost as if he could come back and reassert his right to the bottom bunk on the fourth floor. But this was permanent. This kitchen was no longer his kitchen, the burrow no longer his burrow.

There _was_ no home anymore.

Not here, this was his parents' house. A place of memories. Not Wallachia. That was a place of lost dreams. Certainly not his cave of an apartment. That was just plain depressing.

Charlie was lost, alone, adrift and uncertain. Was this all there was to life? Was this what he was going to spend the next two hundred years doing, wishing for a place that didn't exist except inside his head? A feeling of safety and security that wasn't real?

Why wake up every morning, go to a job he didn't care for to pay for a flat he hated?

But then he thought about the nights. Spending time on Stella's couch. That was something. That was a reason.

Was it enough, though? He felt like he was walking blindfolded down one of the narrow, winding cart tracks that criss-crossed the vaults under Diagon Alley. It was shaky ground. Would there be something under his foot the next time he took a step, or would he just wander around forever without any place to land and nest?

Every dragon loved to fly, but eventually they all came down and found a cliff ledge in the mountains. Females uprooted trees and shredded branches to build nests on their rocky shelves, while males decorated theirs by hoarding the bones of their prey and pissing on everything in sight. Charlie had watched them do it a hundred times.

But no one knew how they picked their sites. Was it by rank? Preference? How did they choose? How did they know that that was the cliff they were supposed to land on? Suppose they picked the wrong one? What then?

If only he had asked them about it before he left.

"Why so quiet dear?" Mrs. Weasley busied herself with some herbs as an enchanted pan settled into the perfect nook of the fireplace to brown the tripe. He pondered the question.

"Just been missing this place." With mum, there was never any need to over explain things. She just understood and took it in stride, bustling you along and making sure you'd packed a lunch and had clean socks.

Dinner was awkward. There was just no getting around it.

The twins made a grand entrance just moments before everyone sat down, flourishing their wonky maroon robes and producing a box of cockroach clusters for their mum. She was delighted and fussed over them, highlighting the contrast to her reception of his girlfriend. But it was only once the meal started that the real chaos began.

"Tripe Bill?" Mr. Weasley passed the dish.

"No. I'm just craving this, sorry." Bill's plate overflowed with a cut of meat so rare it appeared to still be oozing blood. "Myra?"

"Mmm. Yes please." She speared a bit, then made to pass the plate. "There you are Mrs. Boogle dee plup."

"Myra? Is something wrong dear?" His mother asked suspiciously.

"Plip ashkey … ibble?" Stella's brows drew together and she looked about ready to die of shame and bewilderment.

One of the twins snorted into his pudding.

"Snork snork flicky doo dum. Snick?" Stella looked at him questioningly, her confusion obviously growing.

"Deed you two do zis?" Fleur began to cotton on.

"Perhaps…"

"Flick fliddle?"

"You are zee worst creetures on zee face uv zee earth. Do you know zis?"

"You shouldn't praise us so, dear sister-in-law. Billy's bound to get jealous."

"Boys, what have you done to Myra?" Mr. Weasley asked as sternly as he could.

"Nothing at all."

"Right, well it's nothing harmful…" George added.

"Doyko bab zilg! Tudgy!"

"Eet ez like those U-No-Poo's eezint eet, you awful cheeldrin!"

"Nothing nearly that bad! We save those for you, Floo-Floo darling." Fred made eyes at the irate Frenchwoman.

"Jibber jabbers." Fred inserted smugly. "Beauties, aren't they?"

"Iggle mimmy foom dataroo!" Stella had grown indignantly red and her eyes were predatory.

"We were experimenting with some Jobberknoll toenails early one morning," George began with his usual dramatic flair, not heeding the danger. "And then I saw it clear as the freckles on Charlie's face." Charlie growled a bit. They knew he didn't like the fact that he was covered with the things.

"Shnuckle cuspduck toot!" She was going to strangle one of them, he just knew it.

At this point the only question was whether he was going to help her or not.

"It's true. Jobberknoll, a dash of fruit fly feelers, a few secret ingredients, and bob's your uncle: Jibber Jabbers."

"Boys, I want you to undo this this instant!"

"Flibble idskypus!"

**.ψ.**

Charlie followed her out of the house after the disastrous dinner, very ashamed of his family.

"Stella, I'm so sorry! If I'd known they were going to-"

"Family is family, gatito. You can't help who you're related to." She sighed glumly. "Let's talk about something happier, alright? How was your day?"

"Alright, I guess."

Pause. Contemplative silence.

"You?"

"_Igualmente_." She replied neutrally, gazing up at the bright moon. It was nearly full, which meant that the tartan sofa would be cold and lonely for the next three nights. He absently wondered just what sort of research she did while she was gone every month.

Thoughts flitted idly through his head like tadpoles in the frog pond. It was good to just walk with her like this, not really needing to talk if they didn't want to. Comfortable. They sort of just fit, like spoons in a drawer. No need for deep conversation or mindless chatter every second of the day. They could just … be.

It was nice.

"Is the dark still hard on you?"

"Hmm? You mean at work? Bout the same." Truthfully, he was starting to feel more and more trapped every time he approached the bank doors. It was like shoving a bird into a badger's den. He was beginning to consider looking for another position, now that Bill could take up full responsibilities at Gringots again.

"How about that new dragon you were telling me about? What did you name it again?"

"Odie. Odie the Antipodean Opaleye. He's still got a temper on him. Gave me three more love bites just the other day." 'Love bites' was an old keeper's code still used in certain circles for injuries they didn't want to worry their wives over. Not that Stella was his wife, of course. He just didn't want her to worry like his mum did.

"Mmm. Too bad." She murmured listlessly, her eyes still far away.

"Anything on the job search?"

"No." She sighed heavily, finally looking away from the sky. "I don't think I'm going to put anymore in, gatito."

He wasn't really that surprised. Stella must have put in applications to every hospital, clinic, and medi-tent this side of the channel. He did his best to cheer her up.

"You shouldn't let them get you down. You're a brilliant healer. Someone has to figure that out eventually. Have a little courage. Don't give up."

She smiled her iron smile and he was surprised. He had been expecting depression, not determination.

"I'm not brilliant, you ass. And it's alright to give up. Don't be so silly."

"What are you talking about? You shouldn't ever give up! If you want it, then keep trying."

"You and your Gryffindor bullheadedness." She ruffled his hair and the wind whistled through their cloaks. "It's kinda cute."

"Cute?" He snorted indignantly.

"Yes, cute, you ass. Also silly."

"And giving up is so much more intelligent!"

"Yes." She replied levelheadedly as the bike hopped over a pothole, as though he were too thick to understand. "I told you before. If it can't be done, you either keep trying to find a new angle to exploit, or you go off to a more lucrative venture. In this case, I will simply apply for the full-time position at the thir- at my research facility. I still obtain my goal in the end. I get to help people. Who cares what means I used to achieve it? All roads lead to Rome, if you know what you're doing."

"And what if they don't? What if nothing gets you there? Do you just wander around for the rest of your life, stuck on some backwater path?" He wasn't even sure which one of them he was talking about now.

She investigated him with her black earth eyes. "Then you pave your own road, gatito. Or better yet, get someone else to do it for you." She chuckled.

He almost cringed, hearing her say words like that: do it for you, new angle to exploit, obtain my goal, more lucrative venture. That underlying self-serving nature made him sick. It was like pouring malt vinegar over a bar of delicious Honeyduke's chocolate. Why couldn't he just have her sweetness without the stain?

"Are you even listening to me? You may not like the way I do things, Charlie, but in the end I get them done. I get what I want, whether it means building that road or swimming an ocean or growing wings. Somehow I find a way." She punctuated her thoughts firmly. "At the end of it all, I'm the one who gets to Rome."

He was broiling inside trying to think of something to say, but never got the chance. A faint silver shimmer began to glow around Stella's head. Her lips formed a silent O and she stared at it, but before he could ask her what it was she blinked and suddenly vanished.

The bike fell to the ground.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** What did you lot think of Tonks's viewpoint? She isn't going to be in here much, not even as often as 'happy' Harry, but you will see her once or twice more. Opinions? Suggestions? How did you like the dinner? Charlie's reaction to the 'motersickle'? I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

I regret to say it, but I may not be able to post next weekend. Sorry. Final exams are just around the bend and my birthday is on Saturday, so I'm bloody swamped. If I can't post (I will do my very best despite the chaos) then I will be back the following weekend with a long chapter for you lovely readers. I do hope ya'll understand my predicament.

_Igualmente_ means 'the same'._El horno no está para bollos_ literally means 'the oven is not ready for buns.' It means you're not in the mood for any nonsense. Elevenses is a rather old-fashioned word used to describe a mid-morning snack. To whinge is to whine.

Alright kiddies, you asked some good questions, so here are some direct answers for once… a few at least

.………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Harry Potter Magic-** No, Harry is not going to use time travel to see his parents. As interesting as that idea is, I find that it's REALLY OVERUSED in fanfic. So no, no time travel to see his parents. Try again on theories for that. Yeah, in the detailed plot in my head, tonks sustained a pretty major injury to her back (note that she thinks of it as a 'little scrape'). But she's almost all better now, so hooray! Yes, you will find out about Stella's background soon. I promise it will be worth the wait. Care to wager a guess? Yes, congratulations, you caught one of my hidden clues. Stella WAS about to slip and say dark lord. Hmm… oh the possibilities…

**Possum**- Yes, we have another winner. She was about to call him the dark lord. I'm glad that you enjoyed your 'read one, get one free' special on the men of HHtM. Humdinger is a fun word, isn't it?

**Random-** thanks so much for commenting. Yes, eventually I think that Harry and Stella will need to tell us all about what is going on … or else they may need to see a psychiatrist to get all of this off their chests! As always, I will do my diligent best to continue to post every week. It is reviews from kind people like all of you that keep me writing.


	19. A Heart Full of Brimstone

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Nineteen: A Heart Full of Brimstone**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Well we all have a face  
That we hide away forever  
And we take them out and__  
Show ourselves__  
When everyone has gone__  
Some are satin some are steel__  
Some are silk and some are leather__  
They're the faces of the stranger__  
But we love to try them on_

_Well we all fall in love  
But we disregard the danger  
Though we share so many secrets  
There are some we never tell  
Why were you so surprised  
That you never saw the stranger  
Did you ever let your lover see  
The stranger in yourself?  
_

_-'The Stranger', Billy Joel_

**…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

The metal demon toppled sideways with a sickening fwamp that echoed in the darkness.

Charlie paid no attention to the contraption.

"Come back Stella! We're not done talking!" He shouted angrily into the night, fully expecting her to send a charmed tree branch hurtling towards his head for yelling at her.

An owl hooted softly and the sound of rustling feathers signaled its departure.

He ground his teeth in frustration. "I'm gonna have my say in this too! You're not the only one with an opinion, you know!"

The wind was his only answer.

"Stella!"

His eye fell across the abandoned machine and Charlie realized that if she wanted to leave, she could have just hopped on and rode off. She wouldn't have left it behind. Suddenly, he was gripped with fear and terrible possibilities. His mind raced, his heart pounded, and his thoughts were an incoherent babble.

Did she really mean to leave?

Where on earth could she have gone?

Did they have her? Death Eaters? He could hardly breathe, thinking about her in danger. No. No, it had to be something else!

Calm down. He just had to calm down. "Think, man, think!" Charlie scrubbed his fingers through his hair, trying to focus.

Could it just be a case of vanishing sickness?

He had to take his time, had to be careful. It would all make sense if he was just careful not to overlook anything … wouldn't it?

Maybe it was just another one of the twins' pranks. Of course, that was it!

But… the twins wouldn't have done this. It wasn't their style. If they were going to embarrass you (and he should know) they did it publicly and extravagantly, not quietly in the middle of the night, and not with only one witness.

And it wasn't vanishing sickness. Charlie had seen that first hand his third year at Hogwarts when his favorite teacher, Professor Kettleburn, caught from his latest shipment of pixie spikes. He went missing for three months, turning up somewhere in Kenya during the Christmas holidays. (He returned, to Charlie's great delight, with a pair of hyena pups named Jackal and Hide.)

She couldn't have just left. She wouldn't! Would she?

No, she couldn't have. Even if she had been powerful enough, it was dead near impossible to be accurate from distances like that of the trip from Ottery St. Catchpole to London. Not to mention that the woman would rather have gnawed off her own arm before apparating _anywhere._

That really only left one option, but he was definitely not going to even consider that she might be …

And what about that strange mist? She had looked so surprised to see it. Yes, that must be it, he reasoned, walking over to examine the scene of her disappearance.

A faint, sulfuric odor hung around the spot where she'd been standing just moments before. He knelt and found that the mist had in fact been a fine silvery dust. Just as he was about to run his fingers through the tiny grains of sparkling particles that lay scattered in the damp grass, the pungent smell became familiar. He drew back his hand as though almost bitten by a venomous snake.

Brimstone.

No wonder he recognized the deadly substance! Brimstone was a common substance in the keeper's arsenal, essential in curing fire-related problems for most species. Since a dragon's health was largely dependant on a stable, healthy flame temperature in the organs near the heart muscles, only a substance as magically potent as brimstone or something comparable could hope to mend any problems that arose there. He had handled the rock form of this powder more times than he could count (always with extreme caution and a sturdy pair of lethifold hide gloves), but most people never came into contact with something so dangerous.

So why did Stella have it in her possession?

And what did it have to do with her disappearance?

Most importantly, where was she?

Doing the only thing he could think of, Charlie snatched up the dented motersickle and raced back towards the burrow. Mere moments later, he found himself crawling out of the kitchen fireplace in Stella's flat with a frantic mouthful of soot.

"Stella? Bimby? Is anyone home?"

He didn't even bother with the 'lite swiches', another muggle concept he had never quite grasped. He was sure that his eyeballs were going to explode out of his skull the way they kept racing around, looking for clues of Stella. Light was hardly important, just a hint that she was here, safe and alive, not…

Silence.

"Stella? Stella, where are you?"

She had to be there. She had too! If she wasn't home, that meant that … no. She was home. That was all there was to it.

"Stella, please answer me!"

"Sir?"

Charlie flew several feet in the air, landed on his bum, and whipped out his wand, only to find that the sole other occupant of the dark room was Bimby.

"Bimby! Thank Circe! Where's Stella?"

The small creature's careworn white brows slid together first in an expression of confusion, then one of worry.

"She is with you, Sir."

His heart stopped. The whole room went completely still. His chest cavity felt like an empty, gaping hole.

"No." He struggled to breathe. "She's not."

His soul was crumpling softly.

There were so many things he still wanted to share with her, so many things they'd never seen together or talked about. He found himself wishing that he had told her everything, even the mistakes and the secrets he kept from everyone. So much he should have…

No. He would not jump to conclusions. Just because she wasn't here didn't mean she was-

She couldn't be.

"Bimby, she…" He swallowed again. "She disappeared. I have to find her."

The elf's eyes grew wide with what he suspected might be a very well controlled sort of fear, and she scurried from the room calling out loudly.

"Snake! Snake! Heeeere, snake!"

"Wait, Bimby. Come back! What does the sodding Buto have to do with anything?" He made to follow her out the kitchen door, but a severe jolt at the base of his skull sent Charlie flying into it instead.

His vision blurred for a moment, but he knew what he would see when he got up off the floor and turned around. A tiny trickle of unease slid up against his mounting anger and he called out for the house elf. "Bimby, I think I found it." If she really thought it could help him find Stella, then just this once he would put off on trying to kill the thing.

Sure as sugarquills, when he righted himself and turned around there was an all too familiar hiss and sharp flutter of wings accompanied by a faint smoky sent that he had come to associate with the evil little creature. There were very few animals –magical or otherwise- that Charlie could honestly say he hated, but this one was an exception to the rule. It was a shame really. It would have been fascinating to study something so rare and powerful if it hadn't been hell bent on his demise since the first time it met him. They glared at each other from across the room until Bimby hurried back, squeaking for air.

"Snake!" With her hands on her tiny hips, she firmly eyed the reptile hovering over her head. "Miss is gone. Snake will take Sir to find her."

The creature seemed disturbed to hear that Stella was missing, fluttering back and forth in such an agitated fashion that Charlie would have almost said it was worried, but when it was informed that it was to take Charlie to her –however it was supposed to manage that was beyond Charlie- the Buto hissed and glared in his general direction.

"I think I'll look for her on my own, if that's alright." What good would the reptile be in finding Stella?

"No, it is not! Sir will go with snake."

The hissing increased.

"Bimby will have no more nonsense. No nonsense from Sir, no nonsense from snake. Snake will take Sir, and snake will do it now." He was about to object when she seemed to read his mind. "And Sir will not complain."

He closed his mouth.

The Buto shook its head, -a strange, almost human reaction for a serpent- and barred its fangs in disgust. Despite his bravado, Charlie had gooseflesh. Even the most courageous keeper knew when it was a good idea to let sleeping dragons lie (especially when that particular dragon had enough poison in one drop of venom to kill an entire herd of Ironbellies) and this was probably one of those times.

Bimby had other ideas.

"No arguments. Snake will take him now! Miss is in danger, stupid scaly wings!" Charlie felt just as great an urge to find Stella, but he doubted that insulting the flying concussion was going to get them anywhere. If the bloody thing pummeled him just for existing, what would it do if it somehow got him alone? Besides, calling it names probably wasn't the way to get what they wanted.

But for some reason, the Buto stopped hissing and gave him one last glare of defeat, then silently flapped its dimly shimmering gray wings and came to rest on the table next to him, coiling its lower body and relaxing its feathers.

"That is better." The house elf reprimanded sternly, turning to Charlie. "Sir must touch snake's tail, and snake will take him to Miss."

"That's all? What will…"

"No time for talking. Sir must find Miss. He must do it now! _They_ could have her." Fear clouded her quaffle-sized eyes and he did as he was told, realizing that the tiny elf shared his darkest unspoken fears. Why had he ever let her become a recruiter? He should have said it was too dangerous, he should have … there was no time for that now.

At first, nothing seemed to be happening. Then he felt a tingling jolt of warmth run up his finger. Then another, and another. Suddenly his whole body felt like it was on fire and in a flash the kitchen was gone, only to be replaced with a room he had never seen before … and hoped he would never see again.

**.ψ.**

The entire chamber was made of smooth, grayish stone. One wall was covered with sterile-looking green curtains, and the space was lit by pale green torches that gave off a harsh, intense light. Other than that, every available centimeter of the walls was covered in intricate runes that he could not decipher. (Runes had been one of his worst subjects by far.)

The room itself was not remarkable, but the focal point was. In the center lay a perfectly hewn stone table, etched with more runic symbols. On the table lay a body.

A very dead body.

Charlie inched forward nervously, unable to stop coming closer in disgusted curiosity.

The man was balding and round, perhaps in his middle-ages. Not so much older than Charlie's dad, really. But this man's chest was a wide, gaping hole. Ribs and organs had been neatly removed from the y-shaped incision in his abdomen, leaving a gaping red and blue emptiness that contrasted ghoulishly with his placid, rubbery, greenish features.

On an ancient set of scales suspended from the ceiling, one of the bloke's organs was being weighed in a crystal tub. If human anatomy was anything like a dragon's, it could have been the heart. Next to the table there was a tray of wicked looking cutting tools suspended in mid-air. You didn't have to be a potions master to know what those were probably for.

Charlie wanted to look away, to close his eyes, to sick even, but he couldn't stop staring at the terrible sight in front of him.

Fixated against his will by the gruesome horror of it all, he barely realized that Quex had slipped away from his fingers and was flying higgledy-piggledy for a doorway to his right. Trying not to think about what lay only a few feet away, he stumbled towards the soft yellow light that reflected off the doorknob. Stella? Oh Circe, please let it be Stella!

In the split second that it took to open the door, her face was the only thing he could see. Warm smiles filed his thoughts, dark soil eyes wrapped around his heart, and low, throaty music thrummed in every part of him. The ugly tartan sofa, the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding, the way she looked at the moon. So many good memories, so much that he still wanted to share with her. She had to be there. She just had to! He couldn't loose her now!

He found himself in a cramped little room with some sparse office furniture and far too many people for the space, most of them in need of a bit of mending. Harry, Ronnie, Ronnie's girlfriend, and … he was so relieved that he nearly fell over. They all turned to stare at him, but as soon as he regained us of his limbs, Charlie could have sworn that he flew to Stella, taking her in his arms and holding her as tightly as he could.

"Thank Circe, thank Circe…" was all that he could manage to choke out. He whispered into her hair, eyes closed tight as if opening them would show that he was mistaken.

"Charlie? What? How did you get here?"

"I'm sorry, Stella. I'm so sorry." He babbled out, not caring where he was or what was in the next room or that everyone could hear them. "I don't care about any of it. You were gone- and then the Buto- and there's a dead… Oh Merlin, I thought I'd lost you!" He closed his eyes even tighter, trying to will away the thought of ever being apart from her, trying to forget that terrible moment when he had almost given in to despair. It was so hard to imagine life without this woman in it, so painful and bare.

"What are you going on about?" She murmured, stepping back from him and blushing under the intense scrutiny of the others in the room. "I'm fine; I just had some business to…"

"Bloody hell." He whispered, seeing past her for the first time.

He hadn't realized that there was someone in the bed.

He hadn't realized that someone was missing from the little band of adventurers.

He hadn't realized that it was…

"Ginny."

The indescribable high of finding Stella safe and alive crashed straight down through the rough stone floor as he fell to his knees next to his baby sister's bed. Her wild hair was limp and dirty and one of her arms was bandaged. Charlie could hardly see her chest rising, but her breathing was a shallow and painful sound that rattled through the room like a dementor's hiss. Bright, inquisitive brown eyes were closed and her skin was a faded yellow color of parchment left out too many years in the sun.

"Is she…?"

"She isn't dead yet, Weasley." A dry, chime-like voice answered. "Won't be either, so long as I have any say in the matter."

He turned to see fish-face step ease out of a swiveling chair in a shadowy corner of the little room, her eyes too big for her face and glinting in the light of the few candles. Her green healer's uniform was crisp, her short blond hair pulled back sharply from her face, and her features thin and jagged like an underfed vulture. Everything was precise with her, from her fingernails to her cool, clipped way of speaking.

Except tonight the edges of her robes were tinged with flecks of red. Flecks of blood.

"What's wrong with her? What happened?" His voice was rising. "Why isn't she awake?

He looked back and forth from Stella to Harry, who was sitting on the other side of the bed holding Ginny's limp hand.

"Calm down Weasley."

"Why should I listen to you?" He could feel panic shooting through his heartbeats.

"Weasley, if you don't shut up I'll boot you out of here."

"Why do you have blood on you? Is she bleeding? Did you do this to her?"

"Right, that's it. All of you, out. Now. I dropped what I was doing," she coldly thrust a thumb in the direction of the door, "to see her for you, so let me get to it."

There were a few soft protests from Ronnie and Hermione, but Harry –determined, foul-mouthed Harry of all people- just gave her a hard look and herded the other two out. All of them looked almost as badly off as Ginny and tired enough to fall over where they stood.

"You too, Myra, and take your boyfriend with you."

"Moi, he's her brother." Stella said uncertainly.

"He's getting hysterical, that's what he is. I don't have the time or patience to deal with that sort of nonsense."

"Come on, gatito."

"No!"

"Don't argue. Just come." She said quietly, leading him by the arm out of the tiny office.

"But Ginny!"

"She'll be fine. Moi's the best of the best, or we wouldn't have brought her here." As they stepped into the light of the bright greenish torches in the stone room, Stella looked ten years too old and dead tired to boot. "If she has any hope of making it, she's found it."

"She's found hope in a little shack of an office that would shame the name of broom cupboards everywhere? What is WRONG with her? Why is she here?" Suddenly he saw the stone table out of the corner of his eye and realized just exactly which room they had walked back into. "Merlin's beard, Stella! What is this place?"

"The morgue." She replied absentmindedly, as though she didn't even see the large tank of what he was trying very hard to convince himself was NOT blood.

"The _where_?" No getting around it, that had to be blood. His vision began to swim.

She must have seen his half-stumble of a step. "Oh, gatito! I forgot that you're afraid of…"

"I'm not afraid!" His voice trembled and he could feel vomit creeping up his throat.

"Of course you're not. Let's go and talk somewhere else though, hmm?"

She ushered him down a wide corridor where several medi-stretchers waited patiently in mid-air for … no, he was not going to think about what they were waiting for. A short flight of stairs led them up and out into the main lobby.

"Stella, where are we going? Gin…" He couldn't find breath to choke out the words.

She didn't falter in her steps for a moment, dragging him past a frail, elderly witch with a growling krup firmly attached to her left leg and a very bored looking receptionist. Soon they were out in the muggle streets, and following a path only Stella knew. He was too numb to think, much less figure out how to ask the questions that plagued him, so he followed in blind, uncaring silence. After what felt like a dragon's age, she ushered him into a quiet booth in a little muggle pub and ordered them both some fish and chips.

Food was the last thing on his mind.

"How can you eat at a time like this? Ginny is… what happened to her, Stella?"

She sighed and steepled her fingers. "I'm not sure. Harry called me, and when I got there she was already like that."

"But why?"

"Poison. Don't know what kind yet, but she will be fine. I trust Moi."

"How did she get poisoned?" Panic tinged his thoughts. They should not have let those kids do this by themselves! They should have gone to the order about Harry's mad plans! Now Ginny was lying in a hospital bed thanks to his irresponsibility!

"I don't know, and I have a notion that none of them are going to tell us either. She'll be alright, and that's all that really matters, no? Try to think about something else." Charlie was never going to understand how she could be this calm. Gin was his sister! "Oh look, food's up. I'll be back with it in a minute."

He tried to think about something else, anything else. Unfortunately, he could only find one other topic for conversation that would keep any small portion of his brain from thinking about Ginny's pale, unmoving features.

"Was that a … real … body … in there? In that room?"

She laughed. Laughed!

"Gatito, do you have any idea how many corpses were in that room?"

"You mean there were more?" Suddenly his stomach was a bit dogy, but he tried to keep eating.

She snorted loudly, and several of the other patrons shot her glaring looks of disapproval. (Stella was oblivious, as usual.) "Of course. Do you really think that only one person dies a day? In a city the size of London? Think gatito."

"I only saw one." He shuddered, for a moment seeing Ginny's face on that dead, rubbery body. Seeing Ginny naked and pale. Seeing Ginny's insides in a tub.

"Did you see the curtains on the wall behind the autopsy table? That's where they keep them until a family member comes to claim them for the death rites. Actually, it's another idea that we owe to muggles, believe it or not."

"Oh." He considered that for a moment, trying hard to down one of his chips while Stella doused hers in a healthy bath of lemon juice.

Would they put Gin in a wall until Mum and Dad could come and take her to the family burial grounds? He'd been to funerals before: Gammy, Great Uncle Algie. There had been flowers, and a gentle, white haired old man, and he vaguely remembered someone singing. He numbly considered the idea that someone would have to pick out flowers.

Roses, probably. Daffodils. Ginny liked daffodils.

No, he had to think about something else!

"Stella?"

"Mmh?"

"Are they all … butchered … like that?" His lips twisted in disgust. Charlie had never really given much thought to what happened to the body before it went into the ground. Would someone do that to _him _someday when he was dead?

Would they do that to Gin?

"Butchered? You mean the autopsy?"

"The bloke who had his bloody chest pried open! Pried open, Stella! I could see his … inside bits." Mental images of Ginny on that tabletop kept attacking his every thought.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic! It's just body parts. We can't exactly use magic to open them up like we can when they're alive, so we have to fall back on more primitive methods of medical inquiry." She slashed a chip through the air, punctuating her point. "Besides, you must've worked on a few dozen dragon surgeries, gatito. You can't use much magic on creatures either, can you? It shouldn't be such a shock. We all have the same basic components. There's not much difference except shape and size."

"But we're people!" Merlin, Ginny! If she died … no. She wasn't going to die. He wasn't even going to think about it.

It wasn't going to happen.

"You're being very silly." She went back to her food with a look that said he was completely off his head, continuing to speak in between mouthfuls. "Besides, autopsies are only preformed when neither the coroner nor a staff healer can determine cause of death, or if there is the possibility that the death was not natural. The only reason that that bloke had his 'inside bits' taken out was to see if any dark magic was involved in his demise."

"Why can't they just leave it all where it's supposed to be and cast a few spells to figure out what went wrong?" He asked in a panicked, queasy voice, wanting nothing better than to stop thinking about Ginny's face on that body.

"Autopsies let the coroner and the investigator from the ministry know exactly how the deceased got that way. Much more thorough investigation, really, and it's much easier to use diagnostic spells when you can keep eye contact with the organs, especially when it comes to the charm work."

"Do _you_ do that? Have you? I mean…"

She leaned back in her chair and pondered Charlie's question for a moment as unease grew more and more restless in his gut. "Yes. I had to take my apprenticeship rounds down in the basement just like everyone else. But I didn't do it as part of my job, no. Back when I had a job." She grimaced a little. "Moi has just been filling in down there lately because our coroner was killed by the d… by the death eaters."

He could understand why she stuttered, talking about those people. Only an hour before, Charlie had been out of his mind with worry that they might have had her. "They killed the hospital coroner?"

"Sad, innit? I think they've taken out most of his family, even his sister out in Aylesbury. It's not like anyone's immune to death, gatito." She rolled her eyes. "I must say though, I'm going to miss him. Mr. Bulstrode was a very nice man. I think the one who's going to miss him the most around here is Moi. She's had her hands full day and night, and I think all she really wants to do is get back to working full time in Peds."

"Peds?"

"Pediatrics. Err, it means she specializes with children."

"Moira Herman? With little whelps? Well bless my Hipogryphs if that isn't a mad picture of the world!"

"Leave off Charlie. She's the best sort of friend a girl could ask for."

He rendered her a puzzled look, trying to concentrate on the present discussion and forget about what they'd just delved into.

"Ever since Hogwarts, we stuck together, all of us girls. We were the loners and the losers and the ones who didn't care, but those were some of the best years of my life, gatito. I wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Gringots, even if I did do some stupid things…" She smiled, a little half grimace.

"Stupid things?" Was this why people whispered about her?

Stella grunted in response and mumbled an answer. "Yeah, no one ever seems to want to let that sort of thing go with me though. Not something I talk about."

"Why won't people let it go?" _What did you do, Stella?_

"Say I'm a bad egg." She wasn't looking him in the eye, and started to fiddle with her sleeve. "Hey, are you going to finish that?"

"Why would they say that?"

"My parents weren't good people." She said haltingly, barely picking at her food now.

"What do you mean, not good people?"

She crossed her arms defensively and looked out the window. "I mean they weren't good people."

"You're still not making any sense, Stella."

"You don't get to pick and choose who gives birth to you, you know!"

"Keep your voice down girl."

"Not everybody gets to have wonderful parents, Charlie!" She lowered her rumbling outrage to a rigid hiss. "Some of us just weren't granted that particular luxury!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you have to push this?"

"I just want to…"

"Death eaters, alright! My parents were death eaters!" She screamed, irate.

Silence lay thick in the air for what seemed like a year. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't look at the stunned and confused patrons of the pub.

Stella shook her head and seemed to curl in on herself in the corner of the booth. "Are you happy now?"

He stared at her flabbergasted, like she was a little green 'aeleein' from one of the more bizarre of the sitkoms he'd seen inside the telly. A small part of his brain registered the fact that his jaw was hanging slightly ajar. Charlie simply could not process what he had heard.

Stella?

Her parents were…

They were…

This was impossible.

Just then, a soft trilling noise trumpeted inside Stella's jacket. She reached inside and retrieved a tiny black box, analyzed it for a moment, then stood and laid down some muggle currency for the food. When she grabbed his unresponsive hand and tugged, her voice was barely audible.

"Cumon, Charlie. That was Moi. It's about your sister."

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Authoress's Notes:** So… reactions? Predictions? Did anyone see that coming? Was it too obvious? How do you think Charlie is going to take it?

Did anyone catch the oddity in Charlie's thoughts? You all did so well with Stella and her slip up on 'the d… you-know-who…' that I'm hoping you'll spot this one too.

Don't judge Moira too harshly. She is very harsh and rude, but deep down she really is a very nice person … even if she can be a little creepy sometimes … alright, a lot of the time… oh well, we all have our faults.

I got all the details about the morgue and about muggle autopsies from my mum, lovely woman that she is. She is a nurse, thought she does administrative work now, and used to be very good friends with a county coroner. When she taught nursing classes, he used to invite her and her students down to the morgue whenever he had an interesting case and let her assist on autopsies sometimes. I find it incredibly creepy, but to each his own I guess. My mum is rather odd, haha.

To all my faithful readers and dear friends out there in reviewer-land, thank you for sticking with me even though I wasn't able to post for a while there. Finals, birthday plans, writer's block, and a dead awful cold conspired to keep me from getting this chapter up, but I hope that it was worth the wait!

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Possum:** Charlie? Thick? You think? (course, he is a guy… so we can't judge too harshly… grin) You have a point about Neville, thanks for pointing that out! I was thinking along the lines of him working under something like a student-work program for herbology, hence Prof. Sprout. But you may really have a better point. I will probably change that when I go back through and post the second, final version… eventually. Yes, they are evil, but man are they FUN TO WRITE! I'm hoping that means that the 'jibber jabbers' are believable pranks?

**Random:** Thanks. I'm glad you liked Tonks. You should enjoy her if she comes back once or twice more, I hope. I will continue –even if I'm slow once in a while- so have no fear.

**Ctc:** Hello there. I'm not sure what you mean. This is chapter is chapter nineteen.

**Cynthia15:** Hello! Another new reviewer pops out of the woodwork! You are most welcome here anytime, haha. It's wonderful to hear that you were so understanding about waiting for this chapter. Thank you for the high praise, I feel so very loved! Too true about the lack of Charlie, he really is one of the great, untapped characters for possible fanfiction. We aren't told much about him blatantly, but if you look closely in the books, JKR give us a lot more detail about him than meets the eye. It's an honor to know that you found this worth the hours to read, and I was so proud to hear that Myra has found another warm reception (yeah, she can be a bit gloomy, but you'd be gloomy too if you were her… more on that to come, you see, but I must leave you hanging on the details till a later date … mauhaha!) Well, the 'bomb' has been dropped. How did I do?

**HarryPotterMagic:** Thanks! I'm so happy that Tonks got such a nice reception from all the reviewers. And you found her more cheerful! BRILLIANT! That was exactly the sort of character I was trying to get across with her, so my job is well done. Huzzah! Yeah, there's a reason she calls Myra Ace, but that's part of their history, their back-story that I have laid out in my head. You might actually get in on that particular fact if you read the sequel-ish sort of companion story that I'm considering writing to this one. It just happens to be about Moira … but that's a little ways down the road (I only have four or five chapters and ten pages or so of extra bits written for that one) Ah, but I digress… Yeah Forge and Gred are quite the pair, aren't they? I had an absolute gas inventing jibber jabbers … which reminds me, I really do have to continue that little bit with Moody and his furry friends, don't I? Yeah, old Chuck can be a blockhead, but what can you do?


	20. A Bittersweet Grip

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty: A Bittersweet Grip**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Who told us we'd be rescued?  
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?  
We're asking why this happens  
To us who have died to live?  
It's unfair. _

_This is what it means to be held.  
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life  
And you survive.  
This is what it is to be loved.  
And to know that the promise was  
When everything fell we'd be held._

_This hand is bitterness.  
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.  
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow._

_-'Held', Natalie Grant_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie flew out of the muggle pub on the wings of Stella's uncomfortable speed.

His mind was numb and his feet followed hers by rote, not thinking for fear of treading on dangerous mental ground. The night had been far too full of chaos already for there to be any room left in his head for this strange, impossible revelation, and now he had to be strong for Ginny. She would need him, since he knew she would be awake and well when they returned.

She had to be.

They swooped around the krup-lady and the gum-chewing receptionist, down the dark hallways and past the rubbery corpse to the tiny backroom. The view was not much changed from the last time he'd been there except that Ronnie was back. Charlie's eyes were all for Ginny. She looked just the same too: same matted hair, same ashen face, same death rattle echoing in the cave-like room.

The world was suddenly sluggish, underwater almost. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. She was supposed to be awake. Stella said that everything would be fine, hadn't she? She'd said that it would be alright, because Fish-face was the best of the... of course!

The skinny little blond looked up with an expression of only mild surprise when Charlie barreled into the room and grabbed her by the lapel of her perfectly pressed green robes.

"What did you do to her?"

He vaguely heard Stella and Ron shouting, but paid no attention. He was focused on the delicate, bony face inches from his own. "What did you do?"

She gazed at him blankly.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" His roar made the crystal vials on her desk shiver.

The answer was hushed and rang in his ears.

"I saved her life."

Suddenly his head really was ringing. The world wobbled, he tasted blood, and somehow Charlie found himself on the floor in a disbelieving slump.

"Merlin's Beard! What do you- Ronnie?"

"'The hell d'you think you were doing, you git? She just saved Gin!" A familiar red-headed figure loomed over him, cradling one fist. "Are you thick or something?"

"You hit me." Charlie pointed out, unable to think of anything else to say.

Ronnie had hit him. Really hit him! Sure, they'd rough-housed a lot when he had come home on summer holiday, but no one had ever hit him and _meant_ it before.

"Good thing he did it before I did." A crisp voice sliced between them. "I've got much better aim."

He turned to gaze up at Fish-face, who was primly readjusting her collar and looking far too dignified for someone who had just been manhandled.

Stella just blinked at him from her perch on the end of Ginny's bed, dumfounded. "What was that?"

_Oh Ginny._

"I … you … she …" He was hardly aware of inching towards Ginny's bed. "She's alright? Merlin, she doesn't look alright. Are you sure?"

Ron made a frustrated sound and stalked out of the room. Charlie paid no attention, watching Ginny's chest rise and fall with tentative hope. Maybe she did sound a little better. But maybe not. This whole horrific night was full of too many maybes, and neither woman was answering him.

"She's alright, isn't she?" His voice broke. "You said you saved…"

Stella finally stopped blinking at him and took his hand in hers. At any other time the gesture of her touch would have been a right brilliant one, but now it was overshadowed by the terrible uncertainty in her eyes as Herman's steely voice severed what little comfort he might have taken from it.

"Just because she's alive doesn't mean she's alright, Weasley. Even my magic is imprecise. I won't make you any guarantees."

Just then, Harry Potter burst into the room, followed hotly by Ronnie and his girlfriend.

"See! I told you so, you pillock! Charlie's just having a fit. Nothing to be worried about." Ronnie's knuckles, he noted with some small twinge of vindictive glee, were starting to turn purple. Served the little prat right for knocking him.

Once Harry decided that there was no immediate danger, he simply sat down on the chair next to Ginny and took one of her hands. The room fell strangely quiet, except for Fish-face, who had gone back to her paperwork. The quill scratched annoyingly at the parchment. Charlie had the odd notion that they were all waiting for Harry to make up his mind about something, though he had no idea what that something was or why they should bother waiting for it.

For his part, Charlie was still just trying to make sense of Herman's declaration, figure out how he'd gotten into Stella's arms and why he was letting her comfort him. He wasn't even sure if he still had amorous feelings for the woman, and here he was letting her cradle him like Ronnie was cradling his bruised fist!

He was so deep in thought and shock that it hardly registered when Harry began to move. Their secret activities had been unkind to the bloke, and it was a gaunt, heavy-eyed man with stern, bony fingers instead of a cocky, foul mouthed boy who gently laid Ginny's hand down and began to walk out the door.

"Where do you think you're going, kid?" Stella's warm arms were abruptly absent, her demeanor intimidating as she grabbed Harry's arm.

"To take care of some things." His voice was firm and final.

"I want a look at all of you first." She eyed Ronnie and his girlfriend who were trying to sneak out unnoticed. "You're not fit to go out without a bit of help, and I won't see you snuff it because you're too proud for a once over."

"This isn't a question of pride. We don't have time." Hermione spoke up. She had been very quiet since their return, and had Charlie been thinking straight that fact alone would have told him that what they were doing was beyond difficult.

Or just terrifying.

"I said I want a look at you. It wasn't a question."

"No."

"Do we have to argue about this every time I see you lot? _Como sigas dando la lata te voy a dar una leche_!" She grumbled in what he assumed was supposed to be a menacing fashion, starkly reminding Charlie of what he had learned in the pub not an hour earlier. "You will do as I say!"

"Let them go, Myra."

All eyes turned to Fish-face. The slant of her eyebrows said that the other woman was being completely thick.

"What do you mean, let them go?" Stella began to heat up. "Let them go? Let them go? Virgen Santa, Moi! I won't let them die! I won't!"

"They are the masters of their own fate." Herman replied quietly, almost gently.

There must have been something very important hidden in that simple, cryptic statement, because Stella's face softened ever so slightly and something unnamable seemed to crumble. She turned back to face Harry Potter, staring hard into his eyes.

"If you will not let me see you now, you must promise to live long enough to let me see you the next time. I have scores left to settle, and I can't do that if you're worm chow. You will come back in one piece, yes? You will promise me?" Her questions were more demands than questions, but Harry nodded gravely. She released his arm.

"Don't you die on me, kid. Don't you dare."

**.ψ.**

The next fortnight was murder. Charlie couldn't bring himself to leave Ginny's side, and his only consolation was that his mum didn't know. Merlin, the poor woman had had enough trauma to last anyone a few centuries. Dad's run in with a gigantic serpent, her brother's deaths not long before he was born, the fiasco with Percy, Bill's attack, Ginny being possessed, not to mention eighteen years of dealing with the twins. And people wondered why she worried so much!

He was glad she didn't know about this.

For Charlie, it was Bill all over again. He ached at the thought of loosing Gin and memories kept tumbling into his skull: changing her diaper, teaching her how to punch, the night he caught her breaking into the broom shed to practice with his old Shooting Star. In his mind's eye he saw her as she was: strong and free again, like the day he'd come to watch one of her Quidditch matches last year. Ginny was a fierce little hawk that soared above everything, an oak too strong to break with an iron will inherited from mum.

The sharp stink of Herman's sterilizing potions brought him back to earth. Charlie felt numb, images of her on that sickening table competing for space in his brain with the others. He held her hand, just as Harry had the night the three of them left. They had not returned, and he still did not know what had happened to put his baby sister here.

"Ginny, what were you thinking?"

He never got an answer. The pitiful chartreuse fire in the corner grate blazed to life and expelled a plump little witch with brown plaits. Her flowery perfume quickly filled the cramped space as she brushed off her robes.

"Hey thur, Mister Charlee!"

"'Lo." He knew mum would disembowel him like an angry female Vipertooth if she knew about his terrible manners lately, but somehow he couldn't make the effort to care.

"Sorry ta be keepin' ye from yer meetin', but they had me on fer a double shift. Is Ms. 'Erman gone already?"

Yes.

"Oh Fiddlesticks! I was 'opin ta talk ta 'er abou' this order a' yers. Sounds so excitin' an' all, savin' the wurld frum you-know-oo!" She whispered the last dramatically while looking around as though to uncover dark wizards hiding in the tiny office somewhere. "Ah, but I guess I'm keepin ye, aren't I? Off ye go then!"

"Thank you, Prudence. I appreciate this." He murmured, deftly plucking his Comet 280 from the corner. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"Don'cha worry, Mister Charlee, I'll be taken' gud care uv 'er."

He mustered the best attempt at a smile he could manage and hurried out into the back garden. The wind was gusting and promising worse, flinging snow in his eyes. Charlie was almost glad. Flying in this kind of weather might just take his mind off of Gin.

It might even take his mind off of Stella.

He welcomed the challenge, breathing in an icy blast. Even if it was the coldest winter the country had seen in nearly fifty years, it was nothing compared to a few hour's patrol around the summit of Kostya's Peak, searching for poachers in the middle of February. In fact, the chill gave him a little pang of homesickness for Wallachia. Charlie reached into his back pocket and took out a pair of Ice-Sight googles, running his finger over the rims for a moment as he recalled the circumstances under which he had received them.

It had been his final Christmas at Wallachia, though he didn't know it at the time, just a month or so before McGonagall's fateful letter. Krum had tossed him the hand wrapped package and made some gruff, offhanded remark in true Krum-ian fashion that went along the lines of "Perhaps now ve vill be having closer races, I am thinking."

Things hadn't always been so easy between them.

He laughed a little at the memory now, realizing what a sorry sod he must have seemed like at first. After all, it wasn't but a few years before that that some of the best teams had been vying for_ his_ skills. He should have known better. It had just been so long since Charlie could think of Quidditch without wanting to howl, without thinking about The Mistake, and then to meet a bloke who had been hired for a position that once could have been his… It had taken some getting used to.

Thankfully the other man had looked past his initial hostility, and the two of them had come to be good friends and allies. It was a lucky break for Charlie, all things considered, since Victor was the only other member of the Order of the Phoenix in a thousand kilometers who spoke intelligible English. Once it became clear that Krum (who called almost everyone by their surname) was just as unaware of The Mistake as the rest of the world, they settled down for long discussions of the finer points of The Sport. Some nights after the underground Order meetings, the two of them had even gone flying together. Krum had never once commented on the fact that he always favored his left hand, even though it was impossible for a well trained eye to miss.

Charlie was always grateful for the respect that the other man showed in his silence. Some mistakes are best left unspoken.

He shook his head. _No time to think about that. You've got a meeting to get to, man._

Casting a quick disillusionment charm, Charlie threw a leg over the broom and kicked off into the night with a practiced sort of loping grace. The climb was quick and brutal in the biting wind, knocking any other thoughts right out of his head.

**.ψ.**

The Order of the Phoenix gathered as usual that harsh winter night in the second week of December. Protocol was followed, taking longer than ever now that the recruiting had started to pay off. Everyone had to be inspected and reinspected, -it took Mad-Eye nearly a half an hour to decide that Charlie wasn't a dark wizard in disguise- before the blinds were drawn and the wards were set. It wasn't much different from any other meeting really, except for the last order of business.

The short wedding ceremony could have been just another bulletin on the suspected whereabouts of a death eater or a report on the black market rumors of inferi for all its pomp and circumstance. In fact, the only change in the scenery was the presence of a few vases of flowers and the absence of the usual podium at the end of the cavernous dining room. A thin, silver-haired man named Elphias Doge stood in its place, officiating the vows.

The wedding party was hardly festive itself, just Lupin and Tonks and their families, two people holding hands and radiating a love that you could almost cast a spell with. Lupin looked as strong and healthy as he ever did, but a broad grin eclipsed his face and made him like a kid with a new broom. Tonks had been earning more worry lines and battle scars these last few months, but tonight she too wore a smile that reminded him of the spunky little girl he'd met almost thirteen years ago, when she had hidden behind a statue of Merwyn the Malicious and badly transfigured Hestia Jones's penny loafers into a pair of hamsters. She was older and taller now, but that same kind of childish glee came pouring out of her face like torchlight. She held another small bouquet of flowers and wore her hair the way she had the night of Bill and Fleur's big day, long and black and slightly curly down her back.

The two weddings couldn't have been more different. There were no pretty dresses, no bushes of flowers; there was no feasting or music or dancing, and Charlie knew it wasn't right. Tonks and Lupin deserved to have a normal celebration just like everybody else. He found himself hating you-know-who more than ever for taking something so special away from his friend.

When the happy couple kissed and the meeting ended, members crowded around the newly joined families to wish them well and pass around drinks. The girls from the band were laughing and crying and generally just being weird and emotional. Why on earth would you cry if you were happy? Witches. Charlie was sure he would never understand them.

"Congratulations luv!" Stasia burbled brightly. By the way she draped herself over Tonks when they hugged, he figured the girl had already had too much to drink.

"Yes, congratulations, the both of you."

"Indeed."

"It was beautiful." Little Jaci sniffled quietly. Professor McGonagall handed her a lacey handkerchief from somewhere inside her tartan edged robe.

_Don't think about tartan, Charlie. Not tartan robes, not tartan couches. No tartan at all._

"You two will have a safe trip, won't you?" Mrs. Weasley was torn between glowing at the after-effects of her match making and her motherly instinct to worry.

The biting voice of Fish-face crackled dryly. "Yeah, try not to kill him before the honeymoon's over."

"Girl has a point." Old Mad-Eye growled. "Be on your guard at all times. Something big's afoot; you can smell it in the air."

"Poppycock, Mad-Eye." Tonks shook her head with an air of patient longsuffering. "We're as likely to get charged by rampaging puffskeins as find a death eater where we're going."

"You can never be too careful!" Moody roared and thumped his clawed foot. "Besides, do you think that a dark wizard is going to care if you're just hitched? After all my hard work it's a bloody waste to se ya using such clouded judgment, girl. Be dead in half a hippogryph's heartbeat if you don't stay alert, mark my words."

"Don't you think that's a wee bit extreme?" One of Stasia's sisters asked placidly. The big, solid girl was eyeing up Mad-eye like a calm, well fed bear might eye up an excitable fox.

"Bresa Tremlett, meet Mad-Eye Moody, my first instructor at the Ministry. Mad-Eye, this is Bresa."

_Tremlett? So this was the one Donaghan married._

"Mad-Eye?" Charlie decided that she seemed like a nice enough witch. She _had_ saved his life, after all.

"Don't ask." Tonks giggled -a very silly noise- and Charlie sighed. She was a great friend, and knew her way around her job when they crossed paths at Gringots, but sometimes she could be a bit of a twit. Witches! At least Stella wasn't like that. Right. Stella.

_Don't think about Stella._

"Remember your training, young lady! Constant vigilance!"

"Mad-Eye, you do know that line gets very old, don't you?"

Lupin was receiving his fair share of heckling as well.

"You've got your work cut out for you with this one." Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled confidentially to the groom with a slow grin. "A word of advice from too many training sessions? Watch out for her left hook."

"I'll remember that."

"You say that like you might be serious!" Guffawed a chubby man with a pipe who looked a few years older than Lupin.

Lupin shrugged. "With Dora, you never know. It may just come in handy."

The chubby man began to laugh even harder. "Remus John Lupin! I never thought I'd be around long enough to see a witch get the better of you. If James and Sirius were here they'd never let you live it down!"

"No, they wouldn't, would they?" Lupin's smile faded a little, and the company fell silent. Charlie remembered hearing once from his father that those wizards had been friends.

The reverent pause was interrupted when Headmistress McGonagall jostled her way over dragging a reedy, rumpled old man behind her.

"There you are Remus! I was afraid I would miss you before I had to get back to the school. Circe knows what sort of brouhaha _that_ might have turned into!"

"Yes, of course." Lupin turned to the old man, who smelled strongly of smog and spirits and … farm animals, of all things. His hair was tangled and nearly touched the floor, and his spectacles were water-spotted. Everything about him seemed scrawny or knobby. "That means you must be..."

"Abe." The grey man grunted tersely, spraying flecks of spittle. "You been the secret keeper then?"

"Dead tellin'! This 'eres one of the best wizards I've ever 'ad the privilege o' workin' with." Hagrid's beetle-black eyes began to crinkle with firewhiskey-induced emotion.

"Yes, I quite agree." McGonagall added. "But I do believe it's high time that Remus, Alastor, and I step down and allow someone else take charge of the Order. Albus …" She collected herself. "Albus would have wanted us to go on with our lives, and I'm sure he would have wanted you to enjoy your marriage without having to run the Order, Remus. He was very proud of you, you know."

"We're all grateful to ye." Hagrid beamed at the shorter man and thumped him on the back.

Lupin spit out his Chipman's Cheerful upon impact, sending the champagne's trademark pink bubbles flying everywhere, bouncing in glowing arcs to all corners of the room where they hovered for some time before popping. Even mad old Mad-Eye cracked a smile at that. (At least, Charlie _thought_ it was a smile.)

Others laughed too, making the most of a night of happiness in the midst of a world where abductions, torture, and murder were becoming bywords for the Order. It was whispered in hushed tones that the death eaters were planning something big, something to strike all of the members at once, possibly even an attack on a meeting itself (though that, at least, wasn't possible with all of the secrecy that surrounded them.) Members disappeared every few days now, often turning up in brutal scenes that haunted headlines and told even the most reluctant wizard that the war with you-know-who was an undeniable reality.

But tonight everyone chose to leave that knowledge behind, if only for a few brief hours. The bride and groom were toasted and blessed all around. Old friends showered the crowd with tales of Lupin's youthful indiscretions and enough incriminating material to write a book titled 'Trip-Ups with Tonks'. Stasia and another of her many sisters got so piss drunk that Bresa had to haul them off to a quiet room, and a number of couples mysteriously disappeared once the wards had been lifted, some of the pairings very unexpected.

A few eyebrows were definitely raised at the sight of tiny, bookish Jaci and the ever-unapproachable Mr. Croaker strolling out arm in arm, and if Charlie hadn't seen it happen with his own two eyes, he might never have believed the person that slipped out behind _Moira Herman_, of all people. He was the only one to notice, since many of the older witches and wizards watched with little knowing grins while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped into the garden 'for some air' at the same time.

Distracted from his surprising discovery, Charlie's cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Tonks' parents were much better behaved, all proud smiles and silent tears, quietly off to one side but easily picked out from the crowd by her mother's long silvery hair. Of course, there was one other family member who faded into the dimness next to her sister, unusually voiceless but basking in the other girl's joy.

Charlie waited awkwardly until the end, dreading the inevitable and still mulling over his doubts, but soon enough Tonks was smothering him in a giggling hug.

"So, am I supposed to call you Mrs. Lupin now?" He attempted a halfhearted joke when she finally let him breathe, a bit unsure of how to act around her now that she was a married woman.

"Oh come off it, you silly sod. D'you really think I look like a 'Mrs.' anything?"

He had to grin. "Guess not."

Yet despite his best efforts to focus on his beaming friend and her new husband, Charlie couldn't stop thinking about the shorter, darker shadow that had slipped away from the bridal party unnoticed.

It had been nearly a week since that fatal night in the pub. After the incident with Harry, Stella had left Ginny in Fish-face's dubious care had been avoiding him since.

Well, they had been avoiding each other really, but that wasn't the point.

Charlie had had a lot of time to think about what she had told him in between shifts at his boring job and sleepless nights sitting with Gin, but he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Part of him said that she was right, that no one gets to choose their parents, but a small voice nagged on that this explained all of her loathsome, self-serving traits.

She had –as he had come to learn- a bit of a reputation for extorting things out of people the way she had extorted money out of Fred and George. (Come to think of it, they might've had a bit of a right to the whole 'jibber-jabber' incident.) She still discussed disturbing topics like 'paving roads' and 'painful lessons' like they were the most normal thing in the world. Somehow it made sense that her parents were dark wizards.

But part of him was shriveling up every day he didn't see her face. Memories of happy times they'd had together plagued him just as often as worries about Gin. Just thinking about going back to his apartment or his job nearly made Charlie want to bellow in frustration. He couldn't imagine going back to life as usual without her in it. He missed her disorganized flat, missed the smell of paint and wood and her strange –and all too often dangerous- muggle boxes. He missed Bimby; he even missed the bloody Buto, for Circe's sake! The back of his mind wanted nothing more than Stella's dogy old kitchen chairs, her strange hairnet and her tactless practicality, her ugly sofa and her breathy kisses, her warmth and her joy and her happy character that lit up rooms.

It wanted _her_.

But where to begin, even if he somehow managed to forget about her less desirable traits? How to pick up where they left off now that she had gone and admitted her awful secret? Not to mention that she probably hated him for dragging it out of her. Could he ever look her in the eye again without flinching? He knew that it really shouldn't matter, that she _was_ right and that blood wasn't as important as who you were, but he was still uneasy.

In a very private corner of his mind, Charlie just didn't know if he was a strong enough man to overlook it.

Yet he could not stay where he was, uncertain and afraid to move. He was a Gryffindor! He was not a coward who hid from his problems! Charlie continued to repeat similar unhelpful mantras as he quietly followed the hem of a dark brown robe out of the dining room and into the kitchen, just in time to see the door to the back stoop swing shut. He scraped about for any remaining courage and closed his eyes before turning the knob.

Uncertainty broiled in his gut like a potion gone bad.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** So, how do you like Prudence? What do you think Moira meant about letting them choose their own fates? Who do you think Moira has 'mysteriously disappeared' with?

**Como sigas dando la lata te voy a dar una leche** is Spanish roughly translating into something like 'if you carry on being a pain I'm going to thump you'

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum- **I take it that means you were sufficiently creeped out by my morgue? You make me a very happy authoress! That was exactly what I was aiming for. (don't know how my mum can stand the thought of those places, but I'll be drawing on her perspective if I end up writing that seqel-ish fic I was telling HarryPotterMagic about. My mother and (subsequently) Moira (since that facet of her personality is based off my dear old parental unit) both have rather odd views on the matter.) As for the question of Myra being a death eater at some point … oh I do hate to be one for suspense (I am a bad liar) but I swear you get that answer next chapter. I'll even tip off that the working title for next chapter is 'A Lonely Word'. (Note I said 'working title', not 'undisputable title') Is Charlie a big enough man? Good question! Even I'm only 99 sure about the answer at this point. Who knows, he may end up surprising me too!

**Random**- I don't know Random, I hope he has learned something by now but he's very much a human being and human beings are well known both for their inability to change for their tendency to make dumb mistakes from time to time. He_ has_ finally admitted to himself that he isn't sure if he is a big enough man to deal with all of Stella's issues, but that may just be a step in the right direction. As for Ginny, the prognosis is still grim and though I am toying with the idea of offing her before the end (what a tear-jerker!) there may be some hope. _Or_ …maybe I'll just keep her alive until I have a really bad day at work, and then take out all my stress by pulling the plug on Harry's girl! Damn, I love playing God! Muahaha!

**HarryPotterMagic**- as usual, thank you for the wonderful compliments! It's a real treat to know that I can inspire anxiety for the well being of one of my characters, odd as that may sound. Again, I am so very glad that the morgue scene came across the right way (see my notes to Possum on the subject) You have no idea how long I agonized over that blasted thing, trying to get it right! Yes, annoying as he is, Quex is a handy pet to have in a tight spot (and as with most minor characters in my writings, he has a very … shall we say, _interesting_ … back-story. Ten points if you can make any guesses!) Was Stella a DE? It is an important question, I'll admit, but I certainly hope it's not the ONLY question left!

Ah yes, the sequel. Though, as I said, it is better classified as 'sequel-ish', as I 'think' that it runs at least somewhat parallel to the plot of HHtM. (Think is the operative word in that sentence, since nothing is ever set in stone with me until it's up on FF. Sometimes not even then!) JKR? Ok, now I think I've just died of pleasure at the comparison. (giggles) Really, this is shameless, not to mention the fact that you're doing a terrible disservice to a wonderful authoress by categorizing her with me! I could only dream! She finds inspiration in coffee shops, but I find I do my best thinking while driving out on the country backroads to and from work and my best writing in a quiet room on my computer. I think we might have a vaguely similar style of organizing (or at least jotting down our thoughts) but my pages of notes on the computer might fit into one or two of her dozens of boxes of notebooks. Course that might have a bit to do with the fact that I am not paid to write and must sustain myself otherwise. I rarely get the chance to plan things out half so well as I would like though, but when I do I make a lot of charts and diagrams. towards the beginning of planning this piece, I sat down and made a huge Excel spreadsheet that shows the year by year lifelines of all the cannon characters (and all my little bastard characters too), detailing births, deaths, schooling and things of that nature so that I could look up to see how character X might relate to character Y. Sounds complicated, and probably very silly, but it makes sense in the crazy space between my ears so I'm content with it.

**Cynthia**- Dark Lord it is! Right on the money. There's that old pesky Death Eater question again! Too bad I can't give you an answer… (Hold off on the rotten fruit! I'll tell you next chapter, I swear!) Ah, Moira. What to say? She has to be one of the characters I'm most proud of. Don't really know why, but she's just grown on me, the old stick in the mud. (don't tell her I've called her that, she'll hurt me!) She reminds you of a friend of yours? Well bless my socks, that's a new one! I never thought there was really a person like her out there somewhere. Doesn't the Big Guy have an ironic sense of humor? If you like her, you just might enjoy the sequel-ish sort of story I have been considering writing after this, since Moira and her certain somebody play the staring roles.

As for Quex, the flying menace that everybody loves to hate, he is still at the morgue. I'm glad to see that the readers have kept an eye out for him, as he might just be important someday… Harry and Co. went there because when Ginny got poisoned and they called for Stella, she wasn't powerful enough to figure out what was wrong without Moira's help and access to potion ingredients. Moira was in the morgue, so when they used a feather to get to her that's where they ended up. (Consider that Myra was taken to Harry when he called her. Consider that Harry was taken to Moira when he did the same thing. This is significant, especially for Miss Herman's story.) When they got there, they stayed because well, let's be honest … morgues are creepy! Who do you really think goes there when they don't have to?

**Darcy**- Welcome aboard the reviewing caboose! Free cocktail weenies for new reviewers! The oddity… well, yes and no. One part of the mystery does have to do with the death eaters, specifically the obvious question that is now on everybody's mind: was Stella a death eater? But the oddity I was really referring to was something very subtle that no one has picked up on yet and is something specifically about Charlie himself. There are a few hints in this chapter as well. Good luck with the hunt! But you did pick up on Mr. Bulstrode! You are the first, congratulations! Actually, the Bulstrode murders had their first appearance in chapter eleven: Hellespont and Hen's Teeth when Charlie is reading the newspaper. Yes, Millicent is involved but no, she is not dead. You may see more of her…


	21. A World Gone Mad

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty One: A World Gone Mad**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_There's something about the sorrow showing on your face  
Something so tender and contrite  
I know you're tired of being in this place  
Your every daydream turns to night  
And you've worked and strived and struggled  
Until your fingers they've turned blue  
From diggin' deep into the heart  
Of what you can and cannot do_

_There's something about the hesitation in your step  
Something so beautiful and scared  
And something hard about the truth that you accept  
And still you find a savior there_

_Something about the way you cry yourself to sleep  
Something so destitute and poor  
Sweet is every tear that's runnin' down your cheek  
How each one clears the way for more  
So if it drives you to the savior  
Then don't disconnect the pain  
He's got one excuse to hold you and never let you go again_

_Everybody has tarried in a barren land  
Even in a devils den  
But if the cross that you carry should slip from your hands  
Get on your knees and pick it up,  
Pick it up,  
Pick it up again_

_-'It Is Enough', The Waiting_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The doorknob was cool under his sweaty fingers.

_Sweaty fingers?_ He noticed absently as the icy metal began to turn.

Nervous as he was, he still found that kind of funny. He couldn't remember _ever_ having sweaty fingers before Stella came along, not with any girl. Crumbs, not even at his most important Quidditch matches! Charlie Weasley had gone toe to toe with professional players and come out on top, stared down rampaging Iron Bellies and quieted Ridgebacks with just a calm voice and a level head, even fought for his life against wanted dark wizards, but right now none of that seemed half as petrifying as opening a simple wooden door and talking to a witch who barely came up to his shoulders. No one else on earth made him feel this way. She was terrifying and wonderful all at once. Whatever happened tonight, he would always give her that.

The door cracked open, and a gust of bitter air assaulted his eyes. What was Stella doing out there? He whispered a quick "_Ventulus."_ to buffer the wind and peered out onto the porch for any sign of her, standing there for a while with one eye glued to the crack and trying to gather the courage to go out.

He was failing spectacularly.

The sudden sound of the kitchen door swinging open sent Charlie scurrying into the night, freckles burning furiously. He slid the door as close to shut as he could manage without locking himself out and hoped in impossibly ferverent and equal proportions that neither the witch outside nor the chattering girls inside had noticed.

The back porch was draped in freezing shadows, and he had no idea how he was going to explain his appearance to Stella.

But no one was there.

Charlie rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Had he just hallucinated seeing her slip out this way? No, it couldn't be. He hadn't had that much to drink! But he was clearly the only one on this side of the window panes and lacy kitchen curtains, and the only other place for her to have gone was out into the drifting snow. That was highly unlikely. Every nook and cranny in the garden that was even somewhat sheltered from the icy wind would likely be occupied by happy couples like Jaci and Mr. Croaker.

Or worse yet, his parents.

Weddings, for some strange reason, seemed to send out a mass mating signal. It reminded Charlie of the Ridgeback rut when the first female went into heat, giving off pheromones and starting a chain reaction in the rest of the herd. The only difference with weddings was that none of the men in the dark corners of the garden were trying to gore each other to death for the prize of a more sizable harem. (Every year after weeks of sewing up injuries and obliviating droves of muggles, the WMBRF staff would collapse around the mess hall hearth to make predictably wild threats against the existence of every last male Ridgey on the reserve, agreeing that it was a good thing that Ironbellies, Longhorns, and Ukies all mate for life.)

Charlie envied those dragons sometimes. Life was so much simpler for them; just kill, avoid being killed, eat, breed, and fly. Primitive, but beautiful in its own way. Dragons didn't have to worry about annoying things like morality or girlfriends whose parents were the wrong sort of people or being careful with what you said and did. Dragons didn't live in horrible flat-caves and wake up every morning to a job they hated and would probably be stuck with for the next two hundred years. Dragons didn't struggle with loneliness and indecision about the background of their females. They just picked a mate and found a nice dark cave.

Even the mere thought of Stella stung. His eager mind was more than happy to transform a cave into a tartan couch (or better yet, a comfy bed), but Charlie could not appreciate the view. He missed her. He wanted her back in his life, and he was willing to try to gloss over the little matter of her parentage and whatever 'stupid things' she'd done. He was too lonely to care. Charlie would have liked to think that all his intentions were noble and pure, but he had to admit that he was simply acting out of desperation and seclusion.

Suddenly he heard his internal questions out loud when Stella's name was mentioned inside.

"Where's that Estrella girl anyway? I thought I saw her come in here earlier." A nasal girl droned conversationally.

"Who cares? I wouldn't want to spend any time talking with her. I say it's good riddance." Said a second, vaguely familiar voice. He thought he might have known the girl in school: a thin, stork-like brunette who'd taken a place on the Ravenclaw team in his sixth year. Sasha … Sora … something like that. He currently was beginning not to like her very much.

"I know! I can't believe that a nice girl like Tonks would want anything to do with a mad-hatter like her. Really! She's just some charity case leftover from the end of the last war. Why the hell would they want her at their real daughter's wedding?"

"Why would anyone want her anywhere? After all the damage she's done, you'd think she might have the decency to just go crawl under a rock and die. A very distant rock, mind you, far away from respectable civilization." Raucous laughter echoed out into the cold black night.

"Decency? Myra Estrella?" A third girl deadpanned. "That's a joke if I ever heard one, and I've heard a lot."

"You would, with Marcus in your bed." Snorted another. "He must have an excuse for every day of the week!"

"That's so not funny!"

"Then why am I laughing?"

Charlie stopped paying attention to the nattering twits when movement from the corner of the house caught his eye. Though it was hard to make out an exact shape in the swirling snow, the dark brown robes were unmistakably Stella's.

He thought about yelling, but after the way that she had been avoiding him lately he wasn't sure if she wouldn't just run faster. Bracing himself against the cold and wishing he had time to grab his cloak, Charlie hurried after her.

It wasn't long before Stella reached one of the old barns on the estate, lifted a heavy beam from the door, and slithered inside. What in the name of Pickerton's Puffskeins was she doing out here?

Determined to find out, Charlie was only meters from the door before he noticed a pair of shadows wandering along the sheltered side of the barn with a distinct sway in their step. It was all he could do to conceal himself behind some trees and not gape openly at the last two people on earth he could ever imagine in this sort of situation.

"Really Alastor, I must be getting back to the school! I think I've indulged in a wee bit too much of Andromeda's excellent Gillywater." Professor McGonagall giggled tipsily, one arm flung around her shorter companion.

Giggled!

Professor McGonagall!

Were all women mad?

"Much prefer the Harfang's, luv." Mad-Eye grunted gruffly. Charlie knew he was going to come out of this scarred for life. It was _Mad-Eye_ for Circe's sake! And he'd actually used the word luv!

"Vodka? Alastor, put that flask down! You'll be in just as sorry a state as I am, and then we'll both be fit for naught."

"Don't know about that now. You remember the last time you had some of my Harfang's?" The suggestion in the loony man's voice was so blatant that Charlie thought he was going to sick right then and there. The only thing that held him back was the terrifying thought of what Mad-Eye would do to him if he was discovered.

"Alastor! That was nearly fifty years ago, and I was still playing for Montrose." McGonagall blushed. "I'm hardly as flexible as I used to be…"

Charlie averted his eyes and considered performing a through round of scourgify on his brain while he waited for them to leave. It took nearly ten unbearable minutes for Moody to growl some sort of odd suggestion about a galloping pony, signaling departure.

Charlie hoped the pony knew enough to steer well clear of them until they'd sobered up, but mostly he was just intent on Stella.

**.ψ.**

The inside of the abandoned sheep barn was nothing like Charlie had expected.

It was a small room -no larger than the kitchen at the burrow- and quite warm, smelling of animals and something that made his nose twitch. A cheery fire crackled in the grate, illuminating row upon row of haphazard wire cages. The moment that the door swung shut behind him, a hundred beady little pairs of eyes were intent on Charlie's every move.

Stella was no where to be found here either. It was just his luck. Trying to ignore the creepy feeling of being watched by that many rats, (he had a slight distrust for rats after discovering that he'd spent several summers sleeping in the same house as 'Scabbers') Charlie considered the two doors on the far wall. Should he continue further into this strange place? What was he planning to say to her anyway? Maybe if he just pretended that nothing had been said, they could go back to the way they had been.

Charlie's courage was rapidly scurrying away, and he began to wonder about taking his chances outside. If it weren't for the downright sickening possibility of seeing Mad-Eye and Professor McGonagall again, he probably would have scurried away too.

The choice between fight or flight was taken out of his hands when Stella backed into the room. Arms overflowing with a strange assortment of odds and ends (muggle 'noatbuks' and 'Biros' the chief staple of the mess) she was too busy to notice Charlie. He took full advantage of the moment. Even in an old robe, bulky dragon-hide gloves, and an odd pair of goggles, she still made his heart race like a Granian. He couldn't help but watch her.

Everything in her seemed to bring a smile to his lips. It was the funny way she screwed up her nose while trying not to drop the rusty lunascope she'd balanced badly on the top of the pile. It was the way she carried herself, strong and self assured.

It was there in the steady endurance of her shoulders and the knowledge that she, unlike many women he'd met, was not afraid of a little hard work or of a bloke who played with deadly creatures for a living. It lingered in the no-nonsense wrinkles on her forehead, marks earned under the stiff tutelage of places like Wallachia and others just as remote and wild. It was knowing that she was not the sort of witch who wanted to sit at home and knit for the rest of her life.

It was hidden in the soft curve of her hips. It left its tracks in the angle of her neck.

It was everything and nothing at all.

He couldn't pin down why she moved him exactly, only that she did, and that it was beautiful.

Charlie was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a loud series of bangs and a surprised cry of "_Virgen Santa_!" for him to realize that Stella had cottoned on to his presence.

"Charlie! What do you think you're doing in here?"

"I … err, well … you see …"

She sighed, quickly returning to her usual matter-of-fact, imperturbable self and picking up heavy burlap feed sack. "Did you follow me?"

"Well, I …"

Her sigh was deeper this time, and she began to ration out grain to the rats. "Forget it, Charlie. I have been avoiding you, so I suppose I cannot blame you for being curious."

He froze, trying desperately to think of anyway around discussing just why they had been doing that avoidance dance. He had been so determined earlier in the night, but now it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He would rather just smooth things over and pretend it hadn't happened. In his heart, Charlie found that he would rather not know about the mistakes she had made. It would be so much easier that way.

"So … I thought you didn't like animals."

"These aren't exactly pets Charlie, but they are doing us a great service and the least we can do for them is give them a comfortable stay. As for not liking animals, I do keep you around, no?"

"Hey!" At least she seemed to be a good mood. "So, what sort of service are they doing anyway?"

"Test subjects." Stella replied with a round grin, extracting another scoop of grain from the bag and gesturing grandly with it. "Welcome to my private laboratory. Auntie A. was kind enough to let me keep on here even after I moved out, dear that she is, so that I have a place to bring my work home with me while I fix up the tenement house."

Trying to avoid her direct reference to her family, he plucked at one of the tiny tags that fluttered from the cage bars.

_Test Subject: Agrippa_

_Control Group #: 143_

_Condition: Fair_

_Notes: Survived second full moon, no other progress observed. Current regimen of batch no. 7649b at newly calculated intervals appears to have no further effect. Must re-examine lunar projections and consult Warlock Samahla with regards to the soil samples. New considerations include nitrate levels and the amount of…_

"Agrippa?"

"Something wrong with its name?" She bristled abruptly.

"Just an odd name for a rat, don't you think?"

"I suppose." The poison was gone from her voice, swinging from mood to mood and back again. It was odd for her to be so prickly. He missed the old Stella, the laid back, good-natured girl who took life in stride but didn't let it shake her.

"Any reason?" He tried nervously to keep the conversation going. Rocky as it was, it was a better topic than some others he could think of.

"Si. We chose names for this last batch off of some chocolate frog cards." When he raised an eyebrow, she conceded a small grin and gestured to the other room. "Neville collects them."

"Neville _Longbottom_?"

He was incredulous and jealous at once. Stella had been going to _Neville Longbottom_ for comfort while she evaded _Charlie Weasley_? Had he meant so little to her that she would just take up with the next bloke who came along? Not to mention it was disgusting! She had eight years on the little scrap of jailbait! He was _Ronnie's_ age! And she turned to _him_ the instant that Charlie was out of the picture?

Had the whole world just gone mad?

"Yes, Neville _Longbottom_." She mocked him with another tiny smile. "He's my lab assistant."

"Your lab assistant?"

"Yes, my lab assistant. Is there an echo in here tonight?"

Charlie was still suspicious, and said nothing.

"Honestly gatito, I wonder sometimes if those dragons have not broiled your brains." Her smile grew just a little, and Charlie felt a weight fall off his shoulders. She hadn't been seeing another wizard after all! "I can introduce you to him properly one of these nights if you like."

Charlie grunted. It was all well and good that she wasn't seeing someone else, but making nice with a bloke who occupied just as much of her time as he did still was not high on Charlie's to do list.

"You two would probably get off smashingly, being Gryffindors and all." Stella, oblivious as usual, went on. "He even named one of these poor things _Godric_. Can you believe that?" She made a face.

Charlie, in turn, made the appropriate disbelieving noises, all the while considering the best way to kill and hide the body of one large, broad-shouldered schoolboy.

"Course, I had to show a bit of house pride myself after that. I'm happy to report that Salazar is still leaps and bounds ahead of any other subject from the chocolate frog cases." Stella preened.

_Ignore it Charlie, just ignore it. Pretend that it doesn't matter._ She seemed to be trying to do the same, pretending that if they didn't talk about things it would somehow go away.

Charlie hated this, this feeling of uneasiness. He'd never had to be careful around her the same way he did with other people. There had never been this awkwardness between them before. It was just unnatural. It was wrong.

He fingered other fluttering tags, trying to steer the conversation towards some sort of neutral territory in their uncertain ceasefire.

"Herpo, Ethelred, Archibald, Honoria, Cliodne … are these all off of cards?"

"Yes, but I've named them after lots of things in the past: ancient seers, politicians, muggle cartoon characters, even Quidditch players at one point."

"Quidditch players?" Charlie perked up.

Stella only smiled, picking out a pair of particularly bedraggled rodents. "Thought you might like that. There are only two left from that batch though. Meet Gwendolyn and Gwenog."

"You a Harpies' girl?" She'd never shown much interest in The Sport before now. A bright bubble of hope sparkled in Charlie's heart!

"Don't really have a team, but I do root for them when Moi forces me to listen in."

The bubble popped.

"Why not the illustrious Cannons?"

"What, besides the fact that they couldn't win if a plague wiped out the other team?"

"I resent that."

"I'm sure you do." She paused for a moment to think. "I guess I like them cause of Aunt Valmai. She used to give father tickets every now and then."

"Valmai _Morgan_? You know her?" Valmai Morgan was one of the greatest players to ever set foot on a Quidditch pitch! Athletes like Gwenog Jones had been _weaned_ on stories of her epic seeking maneuvers, yet Stella just shrugged as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Sure. Crazy as a bedbug, but that might just be part of the bloodline." Her grin was returning, but he knew -despite his starry-eyed awe about her Aunt- the instant she'd said the word 'father' that they were going to end up discussing the very thing he wanted most to forget.

Bugger.

Bugger, bugger, bugger!

Why couldn't she just have been born into a nice family with a nice tradition of getting into nice houses and having nice pass times? (Namely the sort that didn't involve illegal magic and murderous dark lords) Would that be so much to ask for?

"Related to your dad?" Charlie nervously tried to avoid the inevitable. "Really? And here I always had him pegged for Tutshill."

She finished with the rats and placed the bag and scoop in a chest, closing the lid with a sharp click. It took her a moment to open her mouth.

"They took me in, Auntie A. and Ted." She spoke cautiously, almost like she was amazed to hear the sentences out loud.

He didn't say anything, just pulling out two dusty crates for them to sit on and thinking to himself quietly. _Be careful, Charlie. Of all the times not to foul up, this is one of them._

"My Abuela died when I was nine. I couldn't stay in at the hacienda by myself, so they took me."

He couldn't come up with anything but "I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for? You didn't kill her, did you?" She brushed off his concern, warm and sad all at once as she began to peel off her dragon hide gloves. "She was as mad as they come, Abuela. Completely off her head, but I still loved her. Nine years old is not the ideal time to loose someone like that."

He was silent, still unsure of the careful thing to do in this situation.

"International Cooperation arrived for me the day after the funeral, and all of our things were packed and flooed to Britain." The tiniest smile hung in her cheeks. "I was so afraid that Quex would get lost and end up in someone else's fireplace that I sat up half the night petting him."

"You shouldn't have worried. Even if he'd gotten lost, no one else would have wanted him."

Her smile broadened tentatively and she gave a trembling chuckle. "What on earth has my poor little Buto ever done to deserve that kind of insult from you, gatito?"

They shared a brief glance of knowing humor and he got a glimpse of the old Stella. Easy-going, practical, tactless Stella. _My Stella. _She was still there inside the same as always and maybe, just maybe, what he had learned didn't have to change how he felt about her.

But that was a big maybe.

"None of the family really ever warmed up to him either. Of course, it was a mutual dislike." She said fondly, not hearing his thoughts. "I'll never understand why they didn't send the both of us away after the first week."

"Send you away?"

"I was an absolute terror, Charlie. You have no idea." She fingered her gloves, skittishly playing with them in her lap.

"You can't have been that bad." He wanted to believe what he said.

"'Buela raised me with some very … old fashioned ideas. Muggles and blood and … I … I …I didn't feel the same sort of … affection for Ted and Nyms that I do today." She stumbled over the words.

"Because they're not pure blood? Cumon now, I'm sure you're transfiguring trees from tea leaves."

Charlie was no stranger to the unspoken tension of purity. He was lucky, being born a pure-blood, and he knew it. Even if his parents weren't wealthy, even if Mr. Weasley was thought eccentric at best and Mrs. Weasley nothing more than a frumpy housewife who shared her husband's sometimes unpopular beliefs, their family name still commanded a certain (sometimes grudging) degree of respect. He'd grown up thinking it was afforded to every witch and wizard, but with mates at school like Donag and Larry he'd learned better. Charlie cringed at the idea that Stella had ever entertained that kind of prejudice, whether she could have helped it or not.

"Just trust me, I was a terrible kid. You would have hated me if you had met me back then."

Her words were softer as she spoke the last, like she was wondering if he hated her anyway. He wanted to tell her that he didn't, if only for the purely selfish fact that he wanted to end his loneliness and fill his nights with tartan couches again.

He couldn't.

Charlie realized that he had to know, once and for all. What had she done that she was so ashamed of? If he never asked her –and he would never have a chance like this one again, likely- then he would have to go through the rest of his life knowing that he had based their relationship off of secrets and unspoken lies so that he could be self-centered. He had to find out, once and for all, if he measured up to the kind of moral standards he had believed in all his life. Could he accept her as she was, or was he too weak to try?

Uncomfortable silence pervaded the room, broken only by the cracking fire and the occasional snores of an obese rat in the far corner. Once again Charlie's heart was prickled by the terrible fact that he had never felt so uneasy around Stella before. Not once. It was wrong and perverse, like it just went against the design of the universe for the two of them not to be secure together. He couldn't take any more.

Not knowing what else to do, Charlie blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"I don't care about your parents, you know."

It wasn't a lie. He _was _still appalled by the whole thing, but he didn't really care if she was spawned by goat-sucking stinksaps right now, just as long as he could have her back.

"Oh." She looked startled, like a rabbit surprised by a fox, as she obviously scrambled to think. "Al … alright then."

_Great Charlie. Real articulate. What did you think she was going to say to that anyhow?_

"I wanted you to know that it doesn't bother me much and, well … you're more important than where you come from." He wanted to convince himself of what he was saying. "It's just that I … Stella, I have to know something." He could feel his ribcage constricting like a body-bind.

She mumbled something under her breath, refusing to look at him.

"What was that?"

"I said 'don't call me that', you ass." She grumbled.

He ignored her, knowing that they were both just trying to delay the inevitable. There was no moving forward unless he said it. There was no going back from this point, since they both silently knew what was coming. And there was certainly no standing still. Charlie was helpless. He had to ask the question he dreaded the most.

"What have you done, Stella? What is it that you never want to talk about?"

There was a deep woosh of air from her direction. She grimaced then, almost a smile, and looked resigned.

"Knew you'd do it eventually."

No need to mention what 'it' was.

"First week." Her eyes were faraway, somewhere just past his right ear as she squinted and searched for the right words. "I met them in my first week at Hogwarts."

"Who?"

"The girls." Came the simple reply. "At first we were just a random hodge-podge of students assigned to a study group, being from different houses and all. No one ever would have dreamed that we would manage not to kill each other by the end of the year." She chuckled. "I think some of the boys in the common room even put bets on who would draw first blood."

Charlie held back a strong urge to point out how Slytherin that was, wanting this over with as soon as possible.

"I don't know how it happened really, but we won out against the odds." She was thoughtful. "It must have been the music. Somebody mentioned music one day in the library over our review of middle-eastern fungi for Professor Sprout, and it was … it was like an explosion. We couldn't get enough of each other after that. Course, Madam Pince couldn't _evict_ us fast enough. Used to say we were the most disgraceful students ever to enter her precious library. Shame, that. She never _would_ let me or Jaci into the really lovely sections, even when we were on our best behavior. I still wish I could have read Cufton's _A History of Medieval Sorcery_."

If he hadn't known better, Charlie would have thought Stella was pouting. It was impossible, of course. Firstly, Stella didn't pout. Secondly, no one in their right mind would actually find the library 'lovely'.

"The looks on some peoples' faces when we began to associate outside of class were priceless. I guess it really must have been a sight. Just think: a Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor all on speaking terms with each other!" There was something wrong with that statement, but Charlie couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Professor Dumbledore used to smile when he saw us in the halls together, the batty old codger, but I suppose he had a right to find it amusing. Caray! _I _still find it amusing!"

Charlie did sort of remember rumors like that circulating around his first year, but at the time he hadn't paid any attention to them. He'd been having enough trouble with his classes, lack of friends, and avoiding getting the crap beaten out of him by the Slytherins to care. Not to mention that girls still fit into one of three categories back then: icky, boring, or on the Quidditch team.

"Of course, there was another side to it." She fiddled with the edge of her robe softly, a dusty hem embroidered with little green snakes. "That didn't come till a bit later, but it changed us all."

She floundered to a halt, and it was all he could do not to prod her on. _Patient, man. Be careful with her. You can't hatch an egg in a day._

"We … I … oh, there's no nice way to say it gatito." He focused on the unconscious movement of her hands to keep his mind occupied. "We … well, we err … we practiced the dark arts."

He sat dead still, his mind a complete blank.

"We weren't … we didn't follow the d- … you-know-who … Oh, we weren't death eaters, Charlie! Don't look at me like that!"

Somewhere in the far corners of his head, Charlie had kind of expected it. Never wanted to believe that it was possible, of course, but he knew all the same that any number of the witches and wizards he saw year after year at his dad's parties for the Ministry or passing in Diagon Alley could be practicing the wrong side of magic in their basement or broom shed. Sure, it wasn't everyone, but she was right. There were bad people in the world. You didn't have to follow you-know-who to be one of them.

Charlie had shoved the thought as far away as he could until now, not wanting to acknowledge it had ever occurred to him, but once she said the words there was no denying it. All he could do was hang slack-jawed.

"Kinda funny, really, how no one ever suspected it." She rambled nervously. Her hands were so absent-mindedly impatient with her gloves that they looked like two plump, golden-brown little birds fluttering on her robe.

"All of you?" He could picture fish-face as a dark witch, but the others? "Why?"

She nodded, almost like she had heard his thoughts. "Yes, all of us but Nyms, though we never really opened up to her until after school. I suppose it's hard to imagine any of us, no?"

He kept his thoughts about fish-face to himself.

"We all had our reasons though. For Jaci, it was her family. For Stasia … well, Stasia is a very long story. And Moi just wanted to be a better doctor."

None of those explanations made any sense to Charlie, but he kept his mouth shut and waited for hers.

"For me … it just seemed like a natural thing to do at the time. You have to understand Charlie; I was raised to think it was just another area of study, like herbology or charms." Her eyes pleaded with him, but he could hardly look at her. It was a lot to swallow all at once. She plunged ahead, trying to explain. "Buela wanted me to have an education befitting a girl of my social stature of course, so I had a theory tutor for the unspoken arts who came on the same schedule as my etiquette mistress and the warlock who gave my ballroom dancing lessons."

He would have smiled at the picture of Stella attempting dancing lessons if he hadn't been so shell-shocked.

"It was only when I came to stay with Auntie A. and Ted that I realized some people didn't take it as an everyday part of life. Eventually I understood, but … Oh, I was so young back then gatito! It had only been a few years since Buela left me, and I was so confused by this new way of living that I was thrown into. I went off to school not knowing up from down, and avoiding Nyms like the plague."

"She confused me so much. Her and Ted. Ted … well, Ted was always just Ted. He drove me insane, trying to figure out what he was after, being so nice and never bulking when I was an evil little git. At least Nyms was easier to understand. Most of the time she just hated me, and the feeling was pretty mutual. I either spent my time jinxing her or trying to pretend she didn't exist. But then there were days when she would surprise me … little things, like the time she told off this seventh year Gryffindor who was trying to pick a fight with me. Idiot kid." She shook her head and smiled. "That troll had nearly a foot and a half on her, but she didn't waver for a second."

He stared at her hands as she picked at a loose thread.

"It was our second summer when we started the band. We only let Nyms join because we needed a drummer. She was never a part of our group until after graduation, really, and then only by an act of God. That was the day I figured out why she was in Gryffindor."

His interest was peaked. He and Tonks had been becoming good friends while working in the vaults, but she'd never mentioned this.

"Wha'd she…"

"Sorry, gatito." Stella grinned a little. "That's her secret. The point is, it took me years to settle in with my new family, and even longer to live their kind of life. I was nearly twenty one before I stopped.

It was hard, stopping. We were accepted into the secret communities. I felt so right, so welcomed there that even when I slowly began to feel uncomfortable about what I was doing I continued on. Part of me still wanted so badly to honor Buela's dreams for me. Part of me wanted nothing more than to make my mother proud. But part of me was falling in love with Auntie A. and Ted and Nyms.

Half my heart was stuck in both worlds."

The movement of her fingers was slower now, the way they stroked those little embroidered snakes both beautiful and sad at the same time.

"I have never really belonged in any world."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she belonged in his world. His throat had stopped working properly.

"I suppose you heard those twits in the kitchen tonight." She suddenly changed topics.

He puttered a confused "Yes."

"They were right about some things. We … I … I've done a lot of damage."

Charlie's eyes were firmly attached to her fingers now; watching them was the only thing that kept him from bolting from the room. He couldn't take the tension.

"What?" His voice was hollow.

After a long, disturbing silence, he heard her whisper. "There was a man. We … I … she …"

"Stella." It took all his strength to let go of this chance, but the silent anguish on her face was like a bludger in the gut. "You don't have to."

"No." She shook her head and shook away her stammers, eyes narrow and determined in her dark face.

He felt like the rats were glaring at him for asking this of her.

"But…"

"No." Stella was firm, her chin set and her muscles skating just under the skin of her neck. For a split second he wished he could pull her close to him and never let her go. "Charlie, I have to. I have to tell you before I loose the bottle to do it."

He followed the veins on the back of her hands with his eyes as she fidgeted with her tatty gloves, still uncertain whether or not he could hear what she was going to tell him but needing to know all the same.

"There was a man," she began again, "who hurt one of us. He did some … some terrible … he … we may have practiced the dark arts, Charlie, but no matter how white his magic was, that man had a heart blacker than sin itself."

Something ferocious snarled behind those dark, dark eyes, like a big cat stalking prey at midnight.

"I took the blame, and that is when the rumors started. Some of them are true. Some are not. The others did everything they could to stop me, but in the end it was for the best that I did. I was let off easier than they would have been because my parents' names still commanded a great deal of respect in certain circles." Her fingers were tense, ready to pounce as she snorted. "Well, that and I made a few … bargains. My … talents … in certain arenas were … well known to some. I did some … favors."

Charlie decided that he honestly didn't want to know. Maybe someday -if there ever was a someday- but by Merlin's beard, he couldn't take much more. There was only one other question that still burned in his mind.

"What happened to the man?"

"We … one of us, she … she made him stop." It took a minute for her words to sink in. Charlie stared at her like she was a new species of dragon, one that might decide to kiss him or kill him all on a whim.

Despite the cheery fire, the world was very, very cold.

"The world must be so nice, in Gryffindor black and white." A smile returned, but only on her lips. The eyes were dark and cold. "You might find this hard to believe, but there are times when I wish I could afford to see things like you do: right or wrong, good or bad. So much simpler. So much easier. No need to be cunning or a good bargainer. Just black and white, like two sides of the moon."

There was nothing to say to that. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"There is a reason I do not talk about my past, gatito." She murmured quietly. "I'm not proud of who I used to be. I'm not proud of what I've done. But I did what needed doing, and I would do it again if I had to."

_She would _what

"I want you to know that there may very well come a day when I have no other option but to use my old knowledge. If I'm after something, I won't leave a stone unturned until I find it, even if that stone isn't something people with good morals would go poking around at. I don't exactly like it; I do accept that it is a part of me."

Stella could have been speaking Mermish for all Charlie knew.

"I know that doesn't make sense for you, but please … if you remember one thing … never believe that I am proud of what happened."

Thought was thick and murky. It was like the time his fourth year when Liam and Alvaro, a couple of Slytherins, had cornered him after transfiguration, hung him upside down in a broom cupboard, and charmed his ears full of Drooble's Best. How was he supposed to feel now that he knew? Was this witch in front of him still Stella or someone else entirely?

The words 'be careful' echoed around and around in his head.

"People do not understand. They start rumors and tell lies and mistrust me because of things I cannot change now and things that I never had any say in. I made some mistakes, Charlie; I will not deny that. But I have changed in many ways too, and no one seems to see or care. No one is willing to admit that it is not all my fault." Her voice was resigned half chuckle, half sigh. "You do not understand either, do you gatito?"

"I…"

Stella's fingers were genuine and gentle when she patted him on the shoulder, her voice a disturbing cocktail of pain and patient acceptance.

"It is alright. I could not ask you to."

She smiled lopsidedly and made to stand up, trying to hide the fact that her heart was probably breaking and doing a dead awful job of it.

"Wait."

He shouldn't have said it.

He shouldn't have even considered discussing this at all. No one knew, and it should have stayed that way. He shouldn't have said it.

But he had.

He didn't know what he felt for her now, but he would be buggered if he didn't get a chance to find out.

"Don't go."

She froze, apparently not expecting him to do anything but sit there and watch her walk out of his life.

Bugger that for a game of soldiers.

"Please, gatito." Her voice quavered ever so softly at the endearment. "Please. Don't make this more difficult." She almost managed to hold a professional manner in her stance, but he knew her better. Mad, really, that of all the witches on earth she was the only one he could ever really say he understood from time to time.

"You're the one who's making things difficult!" A flicker of anger licked his ribcage. She was not going anywhere, not now. Not before he figured out what this meant for them.

Her jaw tightened the way Ginny's did whenever she was determined to get what she was after. Charlie pushed away the sudden images of Ginny when the witch in front of him took another step towards the door.

Charlie wasn't about to take this insanity sitting down, literally or figuratively. He sprang up and blocked her way.

"How am I supposed to understand if you won't give me a chance?" He thundered tightly, trying hard to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders. "How can you just assume that I can't do it? You don't know everything, you know!"

It was the first time he had ever seen calm, steady, take-life-as-it-comes Stella get truly angry.

"Goddamit, Charlie!" She swore just as loudly as he had, rage exploding like one of Fred and George's Whiz-Bangs. "This isn't going to work! It can't! I was a sodding idiot to ever dream it could! I'm a liar, a thief, an extortionist, a murderer, a hitwitch, and a few hundred other things that I can think of off the top of my head. And you! You've probably never even paid a late fee for your broom registration!" She threw her gloves down and stalked towards the other door.

"YOU'RE WRONG!"

Everything that had been boiling up inside came howling out, words tumbling over one another in their desire to break free.

"I'm not bloody perfect, Stella! I'm no angel! I've made mistakes!" He roared. "There's a lot you don't know about me either!"

The instant that the words ceased to flow, regret filled him. He suddenly felt weak and deflated and tired. What was the use of trying?

"I've made mistakes." He whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

He looked up from the floor to see Stella's face dark and calculating, her eyes narrow. Her voice was still full of a poison and sarcasm that sounded so unnatural there. "Mistakes?"

"Yeah."

As he spoke, memories flashed through his head. Memories of his mistakes, of The Mistake. Memories of falling and pain and stupidity.

"Feel like sharing with the rest of the class?" Her pitch went up, and her lips were pinched.

He didn't. Especially if it turned out that he didn't feel the same about her anymore.

"I've screwed up once of twice, alright?" Charlie was defensive.

"I see. It's all give and take then, huh?" Stella began to yell.

"That's not it!"

"Then what is it, Charlie?"

"I can't … I've never …"

She said nothing, her face growing softer.

"I … I …" He could hardly breathe. How could he say it out loud? He had kept this inside for so long that The Mistake was a part of him now. Telling someone what he had done would be no better than ripping out his own heart. He would be like that fat, rubbery man in the morgue, emptied of his most vital pieces and left with a gaping, vulnerable hole.

There was a gentle touch on his cheek, and he looked up to see a pair of earnest coco eyes inches from his own. Tears glimmered down her cheeks like the streams that laced through the Romanian mountains each spring.

She was crying.

She had not cried when she laid out her own story. Not for her grandmother, not for her friends, not for her own shame. She hadn't even shed a tear when she was walking out the door.

But she cried for him.

Charlie's heart constricted.

"I can't." He choked.

It was the careful echo of his own words on her comfortable lips that broke him.

"You don't have to."

He was humiliated, knowing that he didn't have half the strength she'd had. How could he fail so miserably? How was it that he, Charlie Weasley, a brave man, a strong man, a Gryffindor man, could not do what a Slytherin could? The world really _must_ have gone mad while he wasn't looking.

"How? How can you…"

"You waited for my answers, gatito. Longer than I ever hoped you would." She said with a simple smile. "I can wait too."

"Stella…"

"Shh." She laid a finger on his lips. "Let it go. It will be there again some other day."

"But I want to … I just …" Merlin, why couldn't he? She deserved at least this much from him!

"I've told you twice now, you ass, I'm willing to wait on it. Besides, there are better ways I can think of to spend the night."

She couldn't mean what he thought she meant! But there was that familiar little telling grin twitching at the corners of her eyes…

"You mean…"

"Mmmhmm." She stepped closer and he could smell something nice from her shampoo. "It's been a while since you've been at my place, gatito. I've missed you…"

This night was just plain mad! _First she admits her darkest secrets, then she let's mine slide, and now she wants to snog! Merlin!_

Odd as the timing was, Charlie couldn't help himself.

She looked so good, and it had been such a long time since he'd had her in his arms… Somehow he soon found himself in a jumble on the floor, leaning up against the wall with a lap full of Stella. Small, cold fingers ran through his hair, up and down the back of his neck.

Oh, that felt good.

Her tattered lab robe mysteriously vanished, and his hands began to fumble around under her faded Weird Sisters T-shirt.

Why on earth were bras so hard to get off, anyway?

After several minutes of frustrated concentration –do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate with a lap full of Stella?- he succeeded in his mission. Stella obviously approved, and began to make those little happy noises in the back of her throat that drove him nuts.

It was so good to have her there again, kissing him like nothing had ever happened. Or maybe more enthusiastically, come to think of it. Of course, Charlie wasn't really able to do much analytical thinking. All he really had the capacity to think about right then and there was how soft she was and the fact that she was trying to get his shirt off.

When they broke their kiss for a second to pull it over his head, Charlie caught a glimpse of the room and suddenly went still.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Sorry about the long wait, darlings. This chapter has just driven me up the wall! It has to have been one of the most challenging ones to write, what with interspersed humor, Stella's revelations, Charlie's (ever-present) issues, and one of my first real err… snogging … scenes. (I don't usually write those sorts of scenarios, so that was quite difficult to get right, short as it was. Not that there's anything wrong with that particular style; I'm just not very good at it.) There's blood, sweat and tears between the lines of this one, so I can't wait to hear what y'all thought of it!

A Biro is apparently a British-ism for a ball-point pen. If you haven't figured it out by context clues, Abuela is Spanish for Grandmother. 'Buela is what Myra called the grandmother who raised her. "Caray!"- A rough equivalent for this might be along the lines of "Blimey!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Possum-** Will there now? How can you be so sure?

**Random-** Thanks for loving the chapter. No promises on Gin, but I'll do my best. I can't help it if inspiration strikes me though!

**Karniverous pineapple-** Hey, welcome to the reviewing family! Thanks for taking the time to comment. (Hugs you) I thoroughly enjoyed your screen name, by the way. So, that's another nay vote for offing Gin? Like I told Random, I'll do my best … but no promises that ANY character will live to see this thing through! They are fighting a war after all (and here's a little preview for next chapter: Someone's probably gonna kick it. It may or may not be Ginny, but someone is most likely going to die…) Anybody have guesses on who? Yes, Charlie has his issues, but he wouldn't be Charlie if he didn't. Hopefully he'll learn as he goes.

**HarryPotterMagic-** Yeah, Moi (or Mo, as she would rather have me refer to her) is quite a character. She is definitely fun to write, especially with her cutting, sarcastic sense of humor. Her errm… 'friend' … is probably one of the last people you'd ever expect. Make some guesses, I dare you! Yeah, Krum and Charlie have had a back story for a long time, I just didn't know where to add in a small touch of it until now. Ah, 'The Mistake'! You were the only one to notice, kudos! Yes, it has VERY vaguely been referred to in the past, but in such small detail that I wouldn't expect anyone to have caught it. As you can see from the references to it in this chapter, sometimes tiny hints become much more important later on. Have fun guessing on this one.

I completely understand the whole late night inspiration thing. Most nights I'm up till two because I can't sleep until an idea stops pestering me (that and I'm a second shift worker this summer, haha.) We would all love to be paid, wouldn't we?

**Darcy-** Charlie has a hard time with Ron hitting him because A) he has never really been hit before (except by some Slytherins, but he doesn't really categorize them with the rest of society, as he is –by nature- the sometimes prejudiced bampot that we all love to be frustrated with) and B) Ron is his little brother. Older siblings (for the most part) tend to think that younger siblings could never one up them (untrue in my case, since my little bro has long since outgrown me. Ah, the good old days when I could still take him down… Now he's a football player with shoulders wider than my hips!) And you did guess correctly, Darcy. There is more to that statement about choosing their own fate than meets the eye.


	22. Worth Fighting For

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty Two: Worth Fighting For, P.1**

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

_She waits for me at night, she waits for me in silence  
She gives me all her tenderness and takes away my pain  
And so far she hasn't run, though I swear she's had her moments  
She still believes in miracles while others cry in vain_

_It's all about soul; It's all about faith and a deeper devotion  
It's all about soul; 'cause under the love is a stronger emotion  
She's got to be strong; 'cause so many things getting out of control  
Should drive her away, So why does she stay?  
It's all about soul_

_She turns to me sometimes and asks me what I'm dreaming  
And I realize I must have gone a million miles away  
And I ask her how she knew to reach out for me that moment  
And she smiles because it's understood there are no words to say_

_It's all about soul; It's all about knowing what someone is feeling  
The woman's got soul; The power of love and the power of healing  
This life isn't fair; It's gonna get dark, it's gonna get cold  
You've got to be tough, but that ain't enough  
It's all about soul_

_There are people who have lost every trace of human kindness  
There are many who have fallen, there are some who still survive  
She comes to me at night and she tells me her desires  
And she gives me all the love I need to keep my faith alive_

_It's all about soul; It's all about joy that comes out of sorrow  
It's all about soul; Who's standing now and who's standing tomorrow  
You've got to be hard; Hard as the rock in that old rock 'n' roll song  
But that's only part, you know in your heart  
It's all about soul_

_-'All About Soul' Billy Joel_

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

Charlie hadn't noticed when the lunascope began to glow. He had been way too preoccupied with the enthusiastic witch in his lap to care about the lighting.

Now, however, things were a little different.

"Uh, Stella?"

"Mfph." Was his only reply. The witch in question was much more interested in kissing the side of his neck than answering his question.

Under just about any other circumstance, Charlie would have been pretty pleased with himself. It had been a dragon's age since she'd been like this! And oh Merlin, she knew how much he liked it when she … _Oh yeah, right there_…

But for the first time in his life, Stella and her kisses had taken a tail-seat to something else.

"Stella?" His voice cracked. Charlie couldn't look away from the far wall.

The comfortable lump in his lap was not pleased. "_Joder_, gatito! What are you going at tonight? Five minutes ago you seemed perfectly happy with snogging till doomsday. Now you are as responsive as a rock! _Y a ti qué tornillo te falta_?" Even as she said it, she ran her fingers through his hair again, trying to regain his attention.

Charlie figured that whatever she'd just called him was less than complementary, but didn't really have enough of a mind to care. He was still staring past her.

"Charlie? Charlie? Charlie! What is wrong with … oh." She looked over her shoulder just as _they_ began making noises.

A frantic series of yelps came from the cages, followed by a tiny howl that sent shivers down Charlie's spine. The noises were NOT normal (assuming it was normal for rats to howl.) Tiny rodent bodies shuddered in the firelight, limbs jerkily reordering and longer fur sprouting. The yowls were unsettling, like a really bad case of intestinal gas. Eyes grew too large, snouts too long, tails too short.

And they had fangs.

A little voice in Charlie's head kept mentioning that rats should _not_ have fangs.

Stella sat back with a stroppy little harrumph. "That does put a damper on the mood."

Charlie gapped like a Plimpy out of water.

"Stella?"

"Don't call me that, you ass." She grumbled, ignoring a fresh round of murderous whines.

"What in the name of … what **are** they?"

"A constraint on my love life, that's what!" She said tetchily, before sighing and scooting off. "Come on Charlie, get up. I've got to get some chores to get done before we can get back to … oh honestly! Isn't it obvious?"

Charlie was incredulous. "Why in the name of Pickerton's puffskeins do you have werewolf _rats_?"

"My_ research_."

"**Werewolves**!"

"The Lycanthropic cure is a very important cause!" She presented him with one of those patented female what-am-I-doing-with-such-a-thick-wanker? stares. "Obviously we can't use _human_ test subjects! What did you_ think_ I was about, anyway? The Society for Rat Welfare?"

"I, err … I guess I never gave it much thought." _Werewolves? Why would anyone _want _to work with _werewolves

"Do you want to look around the lab? We cannot disturb Neville long, and I have to take care of the test groups and get back to the party soon, but…" She looked at him with something that could have almost have been called hope.

"Your lab?" He gulped, suddenly skittish. The last time he'd been in a potions lab, there had been consequences.

Stella was oblivious and as usual, he thanked his lucky stars for it. He thanked all twelve of them, in fact.

"Si, my lab. You really are like an echo tonight, gatito! Are you sure that none of those scaly friends of yours has been toasting you extra crispy lately?"

His silence was assumed a 'yes', and she tugged him off into another room of the barn.

**.ψ.**

Memories stirred under their shallow graves when he followed her in.

A pair of cauldrons burbled cheekily on the rough hewn hearth, mocking him. "We know! We know all about you!" They seemed to shriek.

Charlie was going to be sick.

Merlin, it hurt. Worse than any bludger bang-up, worse than any creature run-in. It was a physical blow, even worse than that time a Graphorn had gored him through the spleen. The guilt was crippling. Memories shredded him apart like angry Vipertooths.

Blackness. Shame.

Oh, he should have done it all so differently!

Pain. Unendurable pain. His hand twitched. Sweet Circe! If only he could take it all back…

_Don't think about it._ He tried to listen to Stella's babbling as she pointed out different tools and racks of glittering potion vials. _Just focus on the present._

The room was sooty, rough, and much colder than the one that housed Stella's mad were-rats. He could almost see his misty breath in front of his face. Every square inch of wall was plastered with pages of notes and charts. The faint fumes of a thousand different potions flittered under his nose. _Why a potions lab? Of all the places on earth tonight, why a sodding potions lab? _Charlie sneezed, startling a bulky figure in the corner.

"Miss E.! I didn't hear you come in!" The boy squeaked.

"Well, you wouldn't with those on, no?" Stella twinkled as he fumbled to remove a bedraggled pair of pink rabbit earmuffs. Neville Longbottom was cocooned from head to toe in wooly winter gear. If he hadn't been so preoccupied by guilt and regret, Charlie would have envied him. The room was hardly warmer than the garden!

"I – err – I mean, err…" The boy blushed and promptly tripped over the untied shoelaces of his Wellingtons, knocking his head on a plant-laden workbench.

"Neville!" Stella rushed over to inspect the damage. "Are you alright?"

A whisper of jealousy was enough to drive away Charlie's darkest thoughts.

"Fine, fine Miss E." The boy stammered hotly as Stella's hands brushed over his forehead searching for cuts. At least he had the decency not to look at Charlie while she did it. Touching some other bloke with him in the room, was she? Charlie wanted to bite something.

Or someone.

"I, err," the young man stammered, "I should be getting back early tonight. Professor Slughorn assigned us another three foot essay, and Hagrid likes to have everyone back in the tower by curfew."

"Well, I wouldn't want to make trouble in the noble house of Gryffindor." Charlie knew that was for his benefit more than the boy's. "Just remember not to try to apparate out. We would not want you to splinch again, no?" She said with a little grin, indicating a delicate blue ceramic bowl of floo powder that looked rather out of place in its dingy surroundings.

The big, gawky boy blushed and hurried over to the fireplace, calling out a quick goodbye.

"You did not have to frighten him." She pursed her lips once he was gone and took up where the child had left off, chopping fungi.

Charlie really shouldn't have been thinking about her lips. That brought up thoughts of couches and broom cupboards … and part of him wanted nothing better than to act on his impulses. He held out a spark of hope that things might go back to the way they used to be –one that was certainly encouraged by her eagerness earlier- but Charlie also knew that it would take him a little while to wrap his head around the idea of Stella … doing what she had done… being who she was…

It would just take some time.

"What do you mean, frighten? I didn't _do_ anything."

"You … you _loomed _over me, like you were a dog and I was a bone. I do not like dogs, Charlie." A familiar roll of the eyes told him she wasn't half as serious as she made out to be.

"If you don't like dogs, then why do you work with_ werewolves_?" He tried to continue the joking between them, but Stella's smile faded.

"You say that like they aren't human."

"Didn't mean to…"

Stella activated another lunascope with a rough flick of her stumpy wand and continued chopping the plant matter under its potent magical light.

"They didn't have much choice in becoming what they are! They aren't evil by default, you know. Lupin is a werewolf, and the last time I checked, I was still letting him marry my sister." She looked so serious that Charlie was sure that she'd never even considered the fact that Tonks could get married without her blessing. He stifled the urge to laugh.

"I know that. It's just …"

"I do it because I know what it's like, Charlie." Her eyes grew dim. "I know what it's like to be shunned and despised and written off because of something that's not completely your fault."

She chopped the herbs with a sharper pace, her features hard and determined.

"I do it because there are so few left who give a damn about a cure, and would rather just write them all off as hopeless causes. Because no one wants to try anymore for lack of headway. Just because something's not easy doesn't mean it can't be done; no one would ever get anywhere if they used that logic! When being stuborn's no use, you simply have to be crafty!" She laid down her silver knife carefully, not addressing him so much as the world at large.

"I do it because I know there's more to life than what we can touch and see and prove, and heaven help me, I will find a way to screw this bastard virus if I have to use my dying breath. I do it because I need to know that the underdog can win the match sometimes. I do it because I want to believe that we can make a world of our own choosing if we want it badly enough, if we're willing to spill some blood and go down swinging.

Her emotions were swinging on a wilder pitch than before -if that was even possible- from conviction to a pleading whine for understanding to a commanding tone of truth. Charlie was a little overwhelmed by her fervor on the subject, feeling like he'd just added the wrong ingredient to a very explosive potion. She didn't seem to notice, going on with growing intensity.

"I do it because I have done so much wrong already, made so many mistakes. If I can spare a few people some pain, then maybe it makes up for a little bit of what I've done. Maybe if I put enough of my life into this, and if there really is a God like they say, then he'll let me … oh, how did Jaci put it? 'Atone for my sins', whatever that is supposed to mean."

"In the end I guess it really doesn't matter. I doubt that any deity could ever forgive me after all the hurt I've caused. My blood is as black as it comes. But that doesn't mean that I won't try for them. I made my decisions, but they can't help what they do every month. No one deserves that. I may not be able to come out clean, but I'll be buggered if I'm going to just sit and watch them go down too. Not without a fight."

She turned to stare into the soft glow of the lunascope, tracing its craters and valleys with a longing gaze as passion flooded her voice.

"I do it because there _is_ more than just me in this, more that just my feelings or my dreams or even my heart. Because I want to believe that despite everything they are wrong about me, and they are wrong about us all! People can change! Phoenixes really do rise from ashes! And when this war is over, kids like Neville are going to grow up and fall in love and have kids of their own and the planet will keep turning. People like Nyms and Remus will find happiness just like everybody else. I want to believe that life will be normal again someday for the rest of the world, even if it never is for me. I have to believe it. I have to try every road to the far side of impossible if it means that I might find some way.

"That is why I do this, Charlie. _That_ is why. Do you understand?"

He did, in a way. Even if her emotional explosions and almost obsessive fervor were starting to give him the willies, it still made some sense. Ever since The Mistake, part of him had always been whittling away at the problem of how to make up for what had happened. The only trouble was that nothing could fix the damage he'd done. There was no 'atonement', no forgiveness or reparation. He had tried a long time ago, but the effort had been a waste.

An annoying little voice in the back of his head pointed out that it was pretty damn funny for an amoral, conscience-less Slytherin to go attempting what he, an honest, decent Gryffindor had not.

In fact, it was laughing its arse off at him.

And not only was she trying to make her amends, she was doing it on a level he rarely even thought about. This was something for the good of all of mankind, not just the individuals she'd hurt. Sure, Charlie knew that people were starving in other countries, that the world was full of terrible diseases and social injustice, but that was all the further it ever went. He felt bad for those nameless victims on the rare occasion when the thought crossed his head and once in a while he felt slightly guilty about never donating to charities and relief efforts, but he was just one man after all. Charlie was too busy with his own crazy life to try to save the dying wombats or support a cure for vanishing sickness.

The little voice was on the verge of mad cackling, and Charlie dearly wished he could strangle it. Since that obviously wasn't an option, he tried to ignore it.

It's a bad idea to listen to the little voices in you head, after all.

Especially when they are laughing at you.

Besides, his current problem was bad enough without the help. Stella was like a puzzle with too many pieces, one that Charlie was trying to solve in the dark with his hands tied. All the little bits were so jumbled and opposite that it seemed impossible for her to be just one woman.

She was the girl who'd reattached his leg.

She was the girl who'd set the twins on fire for money.

Her parents were death eaters.

Her lips were like pillows.

She had practiced the dark arts.

She had cried for his pain.

She made no promises about walking in the light.

She wanted to save the world.

She confused him, she pissed him off, she called him hundreds of derogatory things in a language he couldn't understand, and yet he needed her. It smarted to say that, but it was true. He, Charlie Weasley, the great and eternal free-flying, nothing-to-hold-me-down bachelor, needed a woman for the first time in his life.

It wasn't just loneliness, he decided. The lacking ache couldn't be filled by anyone but this pudgy little witch with the hot coco smile. He wanted to understand, wanted to keep whatever it was that they had. Wanted to confess The Mistake, wanted her to tell him it was alright and she still wanted him too. He realized something important as she stared up at him impatiently.

She made him want to be a better man.

But before he got the chance to tell her anything, there was a knock at the door. She huffed techily in his direction for not answering her question yet and went over to tap the latch with her wand.

"What is it Neville? I thought you had a … oh, hello. You are not Neville." Stella stated the obvious with her usual lack of tact. "What do you want?"

The scraggly little bloke reminded Charlie of a newborn fawn: all trembling limbs and big eyes.

"Can we do something for you?" Charlie tried politeness when the intruder failed to respond to Stella's less-than-cordial greeting.

The boy, who couldn't have been any older than Gin, shifted his black cloak and stepped inside the door mumbling something so soft that it was drown out by the burbling cauldrons and the faint echoes of a were-rat howl.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

The change was like lightning.

"Expelliarmus!" Shrieked the boy with a growling voice and a crazed expression, catching both of their wands seamlessly.

Charlie glanced over at Stella to see her mirroring his own shock.

"_Merde_, gatito," she whispered, almost in a trance, "He has a mask."

Charlie saw it too. A smooth white death eater's mask hung from the bloke's belt, just underneath his cloak.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Authoress's Notes:** '_Y a ti qué tornillo te falta_?' might translate to something like 'You got a screw loose or something?' and '_Joder_!' is a roughly equivalent to 'bloody hell!'.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Ctc-** like I said, Ginny is still very up in the air. She may not be back in the picture for a chapter or two here, but she's hanging on for dear life, I promise.

**Random-** thanks, as always. You make me blush. The room? Were-rats. Howling were-rats. Ahh-oooooo! Hehe.

**Imaj-natif-** Hello! Thanks for reviewing! No worries, I'm a review addict so I don't care when you start reviewing as long as you consider doing it again (hint hint, nudge wink cough) As for your guess about the mistake, all I can tell you is that you might be on the right track… I'll let you stew on it though, cause I can't really give anything more away just yet. Thanks for your sweet comments about Myra. I'm so glad that she's getting such positive feedback! I know exactly what you mean about unrealistic OCs. 99 percent of them are either Mary Sue's, the over compensated characters you mentioned (I call em Mary Suicides, but that's my twisted sense of humor for you. Lol) or worst of all, a character that's a cross between a mary sue and the author themselves (hate ta tell you folks, that's not writing, that's called fantasizing, haha.) Anywho, I'm giddy to hear that you thought I managed to escape the usual humdrum of OCs. Thanks for the bright pick me up in my day!

**HarryPotterMagic-** Yes, sorry for interrupting the action. It had to be done though. What did you think of the were-rats? _Ahh-ooooooo!_ Ah, clever girl, you noted the absence of mention on the parents. Good eye. More to come soon on that… Yeah, I imagine most of us really wouldn't have that sort of patience with Chuck the block-head, but Stella is –as Charlie often notes so fondly- a very laid back girl. Me, I would have probably slapped him! Geeze! As for The Mistake itself, let's just say you could be somewhere near the ballpark…


	23. Worth Fighting For, Part Two

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty Three: Worth Fighting For, P.2**

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

_Well, I've been afraid of changing  
Cause I built my life around you  
But time makes you bolder  
Children get older  
I'm getting older, too_

_-'Landslide', Dixie Chicks_

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

Harry hunched in on himself invisibility cloak, cold December weather. Tightly clutching the precious cargo in his pocket, a recent and surprising discovery that was the only reason he had allowed Hermione to persuade him to go, Harry slipped closer the back door without a sound. If things went like they were supposed to, he'd watch for five minutes, retrieve the box, and be gone before Remus had a chance to search for him.

Weird. He didn't feel so scared shitless as he had every time he'd worn the bloody thing sneaking around Hogwarts, avoiding Filch and Snape and Mrs. Norris. No hammering heartbeat. No shallow breathing.

Course, probably came from all the practice they'd been getting lately.

Harry patted his trouser pocket instinctively. "Still there." He whispered with weary relief when he stopped behind a skeletal tree a few hundred meters from the house and slipped the objects out into the bitter night air.

The smooth silver surface of the delicate flute was only interrupted by a tiny engraving on the back. In the flickering light coming from the house, Harry could only just make out a tiny eagle with outstretched wings. It was hard to believe that this little lump of metal was the reason Ginny was dying.

Inside, he made quick work of worming his way under the wards. It wasn't easy. In fact, these were almost as strong as the ones everybody's favorite snake-headed megalomaniac put up around their first horcrux. As he crawled through the small opening that he'd pried up in the invisible wall, Harry was almost grateful to the evil git for forcing them to learn how to get past these things. He got to the key hole of the dining room just in time to watch the happy couple kiss.

Harry came as close to smiling as he had in a long time, and a brief image of Ginny shot through his head. Then he retreated to the Tonks' basement and got down to the other business at hand. Finding the box.

The box was called something else in the letter. A 'preteritus', if he remembered right. Harry thought it sounded far too much like 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!' to be the real name for it. That did sound like something Dumble… something _he_ would do. Harry couldn't bring himself to think about the author of the letter, instead opting to continue searching.

It was hard going in the dark, with only the faintest lumos spell to go by. The basement was a lot bigger than the Tonks' entire house, and stuffed with a thousand years worth of rubbish. The vague description didn't help matters at all. A 'small silver box with runes around the rim and on the center of the cover' was hardly much to go by. (Not to mention that he hadn't left any instructions on what the sodding thing was for once Harry found it.) Crates, barrels, parcels, and trunks of every size, shape, and description were jumble hopelessly about the massive space. Best of all, everything was coated with a generous blanket of dust. According to the precious gold pocket watch, it only took two and a half minutes for his glasses to completely cloud over.

Blind as a mole, Harry scrubbed at the glasses with a corner of his expensive shirt. Ginny would have his neck for ruining the ensemble she'd spent so much energy shopping for … but Ginny wasn't there.

Someone else was though.

"Would you like some help, Harry?"

"Fuck!"

"Harry Potter!"

As Harry reattached his second pair of eyes to take in the figure before him, a little voice in his head found it pretty damn funny that a man who'd hung out with his dad and Sirius as teens could call him down for a little swear word. I mean, damn! To hear the way Sirius used to tell it, the only reason they'd never succeeded in burning Hogwarts to the ground was because a certain hot tempered red head had a strange fondness for hexing them into incapacitation from time to time.

"Remus?"

The figure did not answer the obvious question, only helped Harry up and said "I have what you're looking for. Come on up to the kitchen."

Harry followed dumbstruck, stopping in the door of the stairwell when he saw it sitting there in the middle of the table just like Remus had said. He could hardly think. This was it! This had to be the answer to all the questions that had been left unanswered! Harry made to grab it, greedy to know.

Remus stopped him.

"But … but why? Dammit, why did you go and get all dusty if you weren't going to give it to me?"

"Suppose it's probably for the best." The older man avoided the question. "She's not very fond of this. Says it makes me look like her father. Then I tell her it makes me look my age. I usually get a punch in the arm for my pains." Remus picked at a dangling piece of lint on his sweater vest and frowned, lost in his own world for a minute, "There was a time when Dora would have had kittens at the thought of me wearing it for our vows."

"Give me the box." Harry said coldly, regaining his composure. The precious minutes on the gold watch were ticking away, but the older man wasn't listening.

"You know," He sighed and looked out at a half moon, "she didn't even get a dress. Not usually much for that sort of thing, Dora isn't, but she talked about _the dress_ for months: with her mother, with Myra, with Bill's wife, with any woman that would listen really. And do you know what she's wearing tonight? One of my old robes and a pair of jeans."

Harry felt a little tinge of something, but it was gone before he had a chance to care. Thirty four minutes wasted, and he only had two hours.

"I won't let you trap me, Remus. I have to go. Give me the box."

Something in those eyes flickered for a second, and Harry thought about how much they had seen. They'd watched him in school, they'd watched his dad and Sirius like brothers, and they'd watched Tonks and loved her like he loved Ginny, trying not to get too close so they wouldn't hurt her. Look how far that got either of them. Ginny was just barely alive, and Tonks was getting as fixated on her auror work as that Herman girl sometimes.

Fuck this for a game of soldiers. Harry was not going to get all mushy and let him off just because he was the last, closest thing he had left to his dad. The time for sentiment was dead. The time for action and will was all that was left.

Thirty five minutes now. The moon looked brighter.

"Remus."

"Harry." The flicker was dead. Good riddance.

"Just give me the box. I don't have time to argue."

"You need to tell me what he told you." No need to say who 'he' was. "It is my last night as head of the order, and we've got to know! It could be the secret to defeating Voldermort."

"I can't."

"By Merlin's great white beard, why not?" Remus threw his hands up in frustration, almost forgetting about the box before the intent look on Harry's face reminded him to guard his bargaining chip.

'Bargaining chip.' How Slytherin. Either Voldermort was affecting him unconsciously, or Harry had become harder and colder faster than he'd thought.

"I said I wouldn't."

So much the better.

He would need all the strength he could get the day that soulless bastard rolled around. Funny, he'd found himself using Myra's nickname for the monster more and more often.

"Don't be thick, Harry! You are only one boy." Harry stiffened. "One man, then."

"Just give me the box!"

"You need to let the order take over. What have you been doing these last months? Gallivanting off to who knows where while we are loosing members left and right trying to slow him down?" No need to explain 'him' either. "This is not some child's game."

Ravenclaw's flute burned hot in his pocket. Harry seriously doubted that even the most skill and experienced of the members could have accomplished what Hermione, Ron, and he just had. It wasn't that they had the talent or the knowledge enough to do it, though that was part. Between 'Moine's almost inhuman expertise, Ron's common sense and tactics, and his own occasional dumb luck, it seemed that fate was prodding them towards their aim. Like the three of them were meant for this from the beginning.

If he believed in fate, that was.

And he didn't.

"I'm taking care of things. That's all anyone needs to know."

Now Remus was pissed. "Harry James Potter, tell me what you are doing! We can't just sit around and wait for you to die playing hero. From what little he told me, it seems that you are our last chance! Do you have any idea how many lives you have cost, young man? How many you could save if you'd only let us help you?"

Fuck this!

Harry'd had enough!

"You're not my father!"

Neither of them dared move.

Remus stared at him with glazed shock.

"No." He said finally in a hoarse voice. "No, I'm not."

Before Harry could respond though, a roar came from the meeting that shook the cabinets and the china. Both men bolted for the door.

**.ψ.**

Before Harry could think, Remus was lost in the sea of fighting. Bodies swirled around in a blur. Spells clashed with sparks and bangs. The noise was deafening, one long angry rumble of violence.

An unknown death eater propelled someone out the widow and into the freezing night. Stasia Mackay sprang up out of nowhere to take the vaguely familiar boy's place.

Amycus was paired up against the smelly barkeeper of the Hog's Head. The dirty old man usually took up with Mundungus and probably just came for the free food. _Bet he's regretting that now_, Harry smirked grimly.

Still, he was pretty quick for someone with a beard past his knees.

As he screwed up his courage to fight, Harry was startled by several order members flying out of the cupboard behind him. Each wore a bright yellow cloak that –in Harry's slightly disoriented opinion- made them look like human bananas. Maroon emblems on the back read 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes'.

"Tuffty! Get back in there before I use your fur for fedoras!" Another, dumpier banana shrieked.

A very familiar banana.

A banana wearing tartan carpet slippers and toting a string shopping bag.

Harry gaped as the mad witch stormed to rescue the cat with her fire poker and the sheer force of her will. It was Mrs. Figg.

"Saints above, Arri! Wait for me!" McGonagall hobbled after her as fast as she could, wearing a ridiculous yellow rain hat that also bore a triple W stamp. After the stunners two years ago, she had a weak heart and carried an ivory cane topped by a carved cat's head with golden eyes. Tonight was the first time he'd ever seen her use it for walking though. Usually it was just a tool for herding unruly students.

_Fuck! What am I doing just standing here?_

Harry Potter was not going to be out done by a couple of geriatrics! Not until the day Uncle Vernon shaved his mustache and skipped down Privet Drive starkers singing the national anthem at the top of his lungs!

Harry took a deep breath to calm down.

When that didn't work, he closed his eyes and tossed the cloak into the cupboard.

The next thing he knew, the fight came to him. Harry deflected a stumpy death eater's hexes without a second thought. There was no time for thinking, just for staying alive. Only the deafening roar of the fighting and an occasional glimpse of another duel out of the corner of his eye reminded Harry that he was not alone in the room.

"Gelidato!" His attacker went on the offensive.

Harry was barely able to counter with a quick "Protego!"

As soon as the curse was deflected, there was a stupendous blast directly behind Harry's head. He cast a half-hearted stunner at the other duelist and spun around to find himself face to face with a giant.

Well, more like face to kneecap.

Harry had to crane his neck back to see the leering face of the two legged wrecking ball that stood in the hole where the wall and ceiling used be. The wind howled right through Harry and the snow bit his face, but he only had eyes for up.

The giant grinned.

Three teeth missing.

This was nothing like Gwarp.

_Fuck._

"Stun it! Stun it, _hijo de puta_!"

"I'm trying to stun it, woman!"

A red beam of light bounced off of the back of the giant's head, and he stupidly turned around. Just beyond the monstrous kneecap, Harry could make out the faces of Charlie and Myra in the swirling, bitter white.

Stella jumped up and down. "Merde! I said stun it, not nick it! What the hell do you … oh merde…"

"I _was_ trying to stun it! Their hide is almost as bad as a dragon's. Don't you know anything about magical creatures?"

"I treat creature _bites_, not creatures! _Joder_! It's coming this way! We have to do something Charlie!"

The giant stumbled back out into the night after them. Harry had a flashback to first year of three scared kids trapped in the girl's lavatory with a mountain troll.

It gave him an idea.

Harry raced out into the blistering storm and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Charlie!"

"Harry? What are you… Ah! Stupefy! Stupefy!" More useless red beams bounced off into the white.

"Never mind that now. Just listen! Conjure up something heavy for me, and distract it. I'll do the rest." He hollered at the top of his lungs and hoped Charlie could hear him over the storm and the fight.

"Right. Hold on then!"

"Distract it?" Myra ejaculated angrily as she tried to knock it out with a soporus charm. "And how do you propose we do that, exactly?"

"Watch out Stella!" Charlie yelped as the giant came inches from smashing her skull in with an uprooted tree.

"Aiiieee! I am watching! I am watching!"

"Bugger! I just need to find a wide enough … aha! Inanimatus Conjurus!" Harry could make out the outline of a large black shape next to Charlie. "Biggest I can manage, Harry." He panted, narrowly avoiding the giant's new toy.

"A cauldron? What is he going to do with a cauldron, you ass?" They were both weaving in and out of the trees around the house now, trying to confuse their hulking attacker as much as possible. Myra, being more portly, had a slower time of it and was usually closer to making intimate friends with the giant's tree that Charlie was.

"Bollocks if I know! He said big and heavy. That's big and heavy. It was the first thing I could think of!"

"If we die because of your lack of imagination, I'm going to kill you." She said so seriously that Harry would have pissed himself under any other circumstances.

But right now Harry had a giant to deal with.

It took nearly an hour and most of their combined strength to wear the giant down. Harry had gone in thinking it would be as easy as the mountain troll. He immediately regretted thinking that. One bash on the head certainly wasn't going to knock this one out. But when they finally succeeded, everybody in a hundred kilometers felt the truth of the saying 'the bigger they come, the harder they fall.'

The fight still wore on inside, so the three of them were running as soon as the ground stopped shaking. Harry was almost to the hole in the wall –it was a lot more like the absence of the wall altogether, come to think of it- when he heard Charlie's spell.

"Oppugno!"

There was a ringing crack, and Harry turned to see a death eater being pummeled by Charlie's cauldron. The fat bellied pot had skittered over and flung itself in the way of a hex he never would have seen coming.

_I could be dead._

Harry gulped and managed to gruff out a low "Thanks, Charlie" before he and the other man were separated.

Just as the two of them were lost in the whirl of bodies, he heard someone shout something about a hellcat. Suddenly Moody was roaring into the fray with the ease of someone fifty years his junior. Harry had no idea how the man could move like that at his age, or how anyone at any age could move like that with a wooden leg. People weren't kidding when they said he was good.

Really good.

There were only a handful of others in the room on par with the mad, jinx-happy conspiracy theorist, and Harry was becoming painfully aware that he was not one of them.

He had already lost the feeling in one foot to his opponent's numbing hex. It dragged behind him like dead weight. Harry was fighting with everything he had not to be hit head on with one of this guy's nasty freezing curses, and just barely hanging on.

"Frigisus!"

"Incendio!" The two spells met with a hiss and curling steam. Harry had learned early in the fight that he could counter this wizard's freezing spells with some of Hermione's heat charms.

"Frezarir!"

"Inflammoso!" Golden spikes of fire shot out of his wand to meet the attack. Myra had taught him that one one night while they were waiting for his potion.

Suddenly, Harry heard a laugh that set his blood broiling hotter than any fire Myra or Hermione had ever dreamed up.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Sirius's murderer.

Harry was so consumed with thoughts of revenge that he almost forgot about his present fight.

"Glacialis!"

Lightning fast, Harry knew it was time for a change of tactics. He wanted to find Bellatrix, and to do that he would have to catch this git off guard.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

As soon as the death eater was down, Harry knocked him on the conk and put him out. No need to risk non-verbal spells. Then he was off, searching through the mad chaos of the fight. He had to avenge Sirius. From time to time he noticed a face he recognized, but never stopped. Besides, it looked like most people were holding their own, if not better.

Kingsley was sure of himself, every blow was steady and measured. He almost dared the dark hoods to attack, almost welcomed the challenge. If it had been anyone else but Kingsley the inviting stance would have been cocky, but one look at him fighting and you knew there was no bluster behind his silent threat. Harry was in awe, or at least as in awe as you could be just after trying not to get your appendages frozen solid.

Bresa Mackay rushed past him, reloading a handgun and looking like an executioner.

_What the hell is a witch doing with a gun? _Harry wondered.

"Rictusempra!" Harry heard Mr. Weasley holler somewhere over his shoulder.

Through the haze of one of Kingsley's efficient fog screens, Harry caught a quick glimpse of the manically laughing death eater who'd been hit with the spell. The black shape was struggling away from a familiar group, trying to breathe through the laughing charm.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were clustered together with some other middle aged witches and wizards, fighting from inside what could only be described as a pink, translucent rubber ball. Spells deflected off of it with smoke and sizzling, but the little battalion inside was doing quite a bit of damage without the burden of having to watch their backs.

It was a good thing too. If those low level charms and jinxes were the best they could dish out, they would have been in real trouble without the protection.

In his rush to find Bellatrix, Harry failed to notice the impossible shadows slithering from the corners. It was Myra's scream that first warned him.

The short witch hung suspended on her tiptoes before a terrifying dementor as others pored into the room from the night. Every muscle in her body was taught as a wire. He could see the veins in her neck twitching and shuddering underneath the skin. Her spine was screwed back to an impossible curve, and she screamed as if every nerve ending was being ripped out of her cell by cell and ground in a blender. Her eyes were completely rolled into the back of her head.

It was the most horrible sound Harry had ever heard.

"Myra!" Tonks managed to knock out her opponent and clumsily kept trying for a patronus.

The room grew dark suddenly, as Myra's frenzied screams got louder. They throbbed through Harry's skull and he wondered if bones could shatter from sounds like that. It was getting worse and worse. He could barely stand and hold his wand. Then Harry realized that Myra wasn't the only one screaming in his head.

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_  
"_Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now…"_  
"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –"_

Harry fell to his knees. He could barely make out the dementor through the clammy mist around his brain.

_No! I'm not going to die! I've got too much left to finish! Fuck, everyone is depending on me! Happy thoughts, Harry… Happy thoughts…_ A thin wisp of silver sputtered from his wand.

_Happy thoughts, damn it! Fuck, I sound like bloody Peter Pan… Flying… Sirius alive…_ Another burst of silver appeared, but the room was getting darker. He could barely make out the clashing spells of other duels.

"_Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy …"_  
"_Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_  
"_Please – I'll do anything –"_

Rotting hands grasped for him.

_No no no! Happy thought … Ron! Hermione! Ginny!_ Their faces glowed like fire in the cold of his head.

The glittering stag erupted from the end of his wand just in time and Harry heard a gun go off.

**.ψ.**

For every Order member still standing, there were two other groaning bodies sprawled somewhere over hell's half acre.

A tiny, frumpy girl cradled a man Mr. Weasley had pointed out to him once, an unspeakable named Mr. Croaker. Her eyes looked very small on her face without her thick glasses. Harry couldn't tell if she was mourning or praying.

Hagrid stared blankly out into the swirling snow while Mrs. Weasley fussed with the wound on his forehead. Usually Hagrid would have just shrugged it off and told her not to worry with one of his big childish grins, but the dementors had really gotten to him.

He wasn't the only one pale and shaking from the fucking things. The lucky one's who'd gotten away without injuries still looked about as close to sicking as he probably did. Nearly everyone in the shattered wreck of a room looked like they'd been through the heavy scrub cycle in Aunt Petunia's dishwasher. Mrs. Tonks broke into her cooking supplies and was hobbling around the room on one good leg, passing out chocolate like it was … well, like it was candy.

Most weren't so lucky.

Wheezy little Elphias Doge was struggling to breathe as Herman muttered an incantation over his open chest wound.

Hestia checked a still woman for signs of a pulse, then shook her head sadly and closed the woman's eyes. Harry recognized her faintly. Doris Crockford, the witch at the Leaky Cauldron who'd come back to shake his hand three times.

Numbness started to wash over him in frozen waves.

He wondered if she had children.

Mrs. Figg sobbed over the mangled remains of what might have been Mr. Tufty. Harry couldn't be sure. He couldn't really tell all her cats apart when their fur was still intact, much less now.

Near the cold break in the walls, snow fell on a face Harry had passed in the halls at school. A tall boy, Fred and George's age. His intestines spewed out of his mouth.

Harry tried very hard not to sick.

Well, he tried.

Vern Sherwyn lay lifeless in behind a broken chair in a pool of blood. He'd played chaser on Harry's team after meetings just that summer. Harry could almost hear the bloke's dorky laughter as he pushed up his thick rimmed glasses and urged the rest of their makeshift team on for one more go.

He would never laugh like that again. His glasses were snapped in two. Deep, slicing wounds covered him from head to toe.

Sectumsempra.

**Snape.**

Harry bit back the urge to growl, knowing he had to avoid notice until he could locate his cloak. The charm Hermione had cast on him wasn't the most predictable one in the world, but it changed his appearance just enough to curtail most unwanted attention. Best to be careful though. Remus was probably looking for him.

The numbness, in his foot and in his head, stayed put long after the fighting was over. He didn't think about what had just happened. He didn't think about anything. Harry was on auto-pilot. Returning to the others to report was his only objective, so he simply excavated his cloak as quickly as he could and continued to experience brain flat-line.

_They look like a bunch of bruised bananas. Sodding yellow cloaks. _

Funny, what popped into your head at a time like this.

Maybe when the war was over and people started to write it into the history books, he could get them to name it 'The Battle of the Fruit'.

If he managed to survive, that was. Harry stifled a little urge to snort. What a motivation to win the war. He really needed to get back and get some kip before they set out tomorrow. All he had to do was get past whoever was in the kitchen and through the apparating ward.

He hadn't counted on the kitchen being occupied by these particular whoever's.

After nearly an hour of bloodshed and chaos, you would think that nothing could have shocked him. You'd think, but you'd be dead wrong. Harry felt like he'd stepped into one of those late-night foreign telly programs Dudley used to watch … wadou call'em? The Twilight Zone. Yeah, He had definitely walked right into the Twilight Zone.

"Found it." A grizzled voice emerged from the Tonks' pantry, followed by a grizzled man with a large bottle of something very obviously alcoholic. Harry had always thought that it was impossible for Moody ever get any more grizzled. He was wrong. Even the claw-footed wooden leg had not survived unscathed. Moody's mismatched eyes were the biggest clue to the identity of the hobbling mass of boils, burns, and bandages that spoke with his ever-suspicious voice. All in red and white, Alastor Moody looked like some insane parody of a candy cane.

Harry bit back a manic desire to giggle.

Giggle! Fuck, he really must have taken one too many shots to the head.

If visions of gigantic hex-hurling sweeties weren't enough, there was the little matter of the other person in the room.

Professor McGonagall lolled in a kitchen chair, limp as a rag doll and drunk as a skunk. She had Moody's hip flask in her hand and was draining it like she was dying of thirst.

Maybe he was hallucinating, or had post-whatsit-sock-thingy. Myra had told him about it one night while they waited for that awful headache potion, said it was 'induced by instances of severe emotional trauma', whatever that was supposed to mean. He bet it could make you see things. Probably hear things too. After all, fighting for your life isn't your garden-variety kind of 'trauma'. No, this gave a whole new definition to the word 'trauma'.

They _had_ all just seen a gruesome battle. Though it was difficult to think that this person and the head mistress were one and the same, he couldn't grudge her an effort to get the carnage out of her head … however disturbing he might personally find it.

It wasn't what they looked like that had Harry's guts churning, really. It was the conversation.

"Quite the interruption of our plans, wasn't it?" Mad-eye inquired, glassy around the edges.

"Wasn't much to interrupt yet. That," his former head of house rolled her head back and forth woozily, slurring her speak like she had a mouth full of mush, "was quite possibly the worst shag I've ever had."

Moody chuckled. "Language. Never thought_ I'd_ be the one to say it to _you_."

Harry was about ready to fall over dead. Had he just heard Professor McGonagall use the word…

No. It must have been something that sounded like it.

Fag?

Yes, that would work.

'The worst_ fag_ I've ever had.'

That was what he'd heard.

He had to confess, it was a little hard to picture prim and proper Professor McGonagall as a chain smoker, but the alternative was painfully disturbing.

Unfortunately for Harry, the truth often hurts.

"What, death eaters breaking down the bedroom door didn't put you in the mood?" Moody grinned a creepy, crooked grin, made all the more creepy and crooked by the fact that his lip was roughly the size of a quaffle and quickly turning green.

McGonagall raise a singed eyebrow archly. "In a word? No."

Fuck, he had heard her right after all. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck! Why couldn't Moody just move away from the door? He only had twelve minutes left!

"Why not? Kinda like old times, living on the edge, not knowing which, ahem … 'shag' might be our last…" The nutter chortled again, like hearing McGonagall say the word 'shag' was the most hilarious thing on earth. Funnily enough, under any other circumstances it probably would be. Harry was definitely in another reality. He didn't care how piss drunk Moody was or wasn't. The man was never, _never_ so, so … un-Moody like, and as for the rest …

Harry wasn't going to touch what their 'old times' entailed with a mental ten foot pole, not for all the gold in Gringots.

"Did you ever consider, Alastor," McGonagall took another heavy swig from the bottle Mad-Eye prodded at her and eyed up the room fuzzily, "that I gave up 'the good old days', as you would so ironically title them, because I no longer wished to incur such lovely beauty marks?" She pointed to a magnificent purple bruise blossoming around an eye that was nearly swollen shut. "Or perhaps that –for some strange reason- I grew weary of watching those I loved cut down in the prime of life?"

"You look like a well set up witch." Was all Mad-Eye mumbled, ignoring the rest of what she'd said and passing her the larger bottle of booze. "Cheers, Hellcat."

Hellcat? What the fuck?

It was all just too surreal. Not only did he have the whole sodding 'Chosen One' mess to deal with –not to mention the slight problem of saving the world-, in the past weeks he'd uncovered a horcrux, extracted said horcrux from the clutches of a variety of unsavory creatures and/or dark enchantments –including, of all of Voldermort's cute and fuzzy army, a couple of living-dead zombie-thingies-, and watched his girlfriend of a few precious months nearly die from poison. In the past two hours he'd fought with perhaps the closest thing he had to a father, made a choice that could change the fate of the world, and watched dozens of people slaughtered.

Oh no.

That wasn't enough for the powers that be.

Someone up there was determined to drive Harry James sodding Potter mad before his little shoot-out with Voldermort ever rolled around.

Now he was trapped in a room with Professor McGonagall's evil, piss-drunk twin and the mad candy cane from hell, both of whom –after imbibing two large bottles of the powerful smelling stuff- started eyeing each other up and down with the same longing stare that Bill Weasley gave a particularly rare piece of meat.

This could not be happening. He must have lost his marbles. This was just a bad episode of the Twilight Zone.

But sane or not, if either of them dropped the word 'shag' one more time, Harry was going to throw down the cloak and ask to be taken to their leader.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Authoress's Notes:** A fag refers to a cigarette, not a homosexual. I don't like name calling, and think anyone who does it ought to be forced to scrape rat puke from Snape's dirty cauldrons with my used toe file from here until doomsday. While my personal convictions discourage homosexuality, I have many wonderful friends who are gay. They are lovely people and I adore them. Please DO NOT take Harry's inner monologue out of context, or flame me for using the word fag. I will repeat this again for clarity's sake: He is talking about a CIGARETTE, not a sexual orientation.

On the adjacent note of personal convictions, I felt I needed to clarify a few points about this and other chapters to come. The religious beliefs and moral values that my characters hold to do not necessarily reflect my own. Just because Stella is rather agnostic at best and Harry has a bit of a potty-mouth (gotta love puns!) does not mean that I as a person support those views or actions. They are FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, for criminey's sake!

Actually, my faith in God is a very real and important part of my life and something I wouldn't trade for all the non-existent galleons in Gringots. I am always hesitant to infuse too much of my own conviction into a character unless they have a personality that seems to call for it. For instance, I can't really picture 'angry Harry' going to church on Sunday and singing hymns about the faithfulness of God at this point in his life. Can you? None of my characters are very like me at all, save a few details here and there, because I do not (unlike some authors) think it very creative to 'create a character' who is basically just you minus all the things that you hate about yourself (mary-sues, blech).

I hate to bore ya'll with this silly little disclaimer, but it is the same deal as the fag joke. If I don't disclaim-er it, someone is bound to flame me and go on a moral rampage.

The Lily/Voldy dialogue that Harry hears when the dementor is near is the property of JKR, specifically Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter twelve. I'm not making any money off this story, so I'm hoping she won't mind. May the literary gods smite me down where I stand if I have besmirched the selection too badly.

**………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**

**Karniverous-** so, you like the were-rats? Thank you, you are so sweet. To thank you for being a darling and reviewing, I dub thee Karniverous Pineapple, keeper of the were-rats! Ahhhhh-ooooo! Which one do you want as your pet?

So, you want to know about the mistake? Ah, what fun would the story be if I didn't keep a few suspenseful elements (pouts) I think you may have to wait a chapter or two on that one, but don't quote me. You never know, I may find a way to get it in sooner if I have some brilliant stroke of genius one of these afternoons. The death eater? He's dead now, but I can't tell you more than that until next chapter.

**Random-** thanks again. You always make my day with your kind reviews.

**HarryPotterMagic-** Ah, the nameless DE bloke. I can't tell you much more about him than what I already mentioned to Karniverous, but I will confirm that yes, he was in Ginny's year. The two of them knew each other. As for the potions lab, you are a smart, smart girl. You picked up on another clue. Yes, Charlie injured his left hand in the past. He used to be left handed, actually, but had to learn to be right handed after the injury. Yes, the were-rats are so ugly even their mothers wouldn't want them. Nasty ittle oinkers, but Stella really doesn't think much better of ANY animal, so she kinda just tolerates them the way she tolerates Mo's pets. I agree. They should definitely stay in the cages… and out of the way of Charlie and Stella's love life! Dumb rats.

**WaterInAPuddle-** Hello there. Nice to meet you! Welcome to the reviewing family! Want a were-rat? (Neville's trying to sell them off so he doesn't have to work next door to them anymore.) A fellow Fitzgerald fan? I'm quite fond of that particular song myself. Thank you for not regretting reading, lol. I haven't heard that Mile's Davis song though. I'll have to look into it.

Yes, I'm positive this beast is just littered with grammatical errors. The unfortunate side effect of having no beta and no spare time. I barely get these chapters out and self checked once or twice before the deadlines I set for myself without adding another person to the equation. I may go back at the end and post an edited version. Ah, clueless Charlie. I agree, sometimes the clueless characters are the most fun. Charlie has such a cute, bumbling personality in my head. He's just adorable. Irritating as all getup, but very cluelessly adorable. So, you are also interested in Mo? I hope that if there are enough people who really push for it, I can find the inspiration to finish a secondary story to this one about her and her special someone. Actually, it's also very much a murder mystery. But that's still in the works. Very hush hush, you see. Thank you, I'll do my best by all of you to keep the quality high!


	24. A Question of Debts

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty Four: A Question of Debts**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_None of us knows and that makes it a mystery  
If life is a comedy, then why all the tragedy  
Three-and-a-half pounds of brain try to figure out  
What this world is all about  
And is there an eternity, is there an eternity?_

_Lying on pillows we're haunted and half-awake  
Does anyone hear us pray, "If I die before I wake"  
Then the morning comes and the mirror's the other place  
Where we wrestle face to face _

_With the image of Deity, the image of Deity_

_God if you're there I wish you'd show me  
And God if You care then I need You to know me  
I hope You don't mind me asking the questions  
But I figure you're big enough  
I figure you're big enough_

_-'Big Enough', Chris Rice_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fourteen.

Fourteen bodies.

Fourteen graves.

That meant going to fourteen funerals.

The aftermath of Downy Hills took everyone a little differently. Some people cried. Some people tried to pretend they weren't affected. Most just sort of kept to themselves for a while. After all, they couldn't show too much in their public lives. They couldn't let people learn about the fight anymore than they could reveal that they were members of the Order. He'd even heard some pretty fantastic rumors about some members boozing away their nightmares in torrid relationships. That was just gossip of course, but it was still hitting everyone hard.

The funerals forced emotions out into the open. It was the first time since that blood-soaked night that they had all been together again. For Charlie, who had been unconscious in Mungo's until the day before, the services were just a blur of shock, hollowness, and a few clinging attempts at comfort. Only one really shook him at all.

Maybe he remembered it because it was the first service for any of the fallen, or maybe it was because of Stella. Maybe he just remembered that day because the woman in the ground had saved them both.

He tried to tell himself it was just Stella.

When she drifted through the shivering crowd and into his shadow, he'd gotten nervous. She looked like a lost puppy, clammy and underfed. Charlie noticed her eyes darting back and forth like caged rats at every lull in the services. He hadn't really known what to expect after her encounter with the dementor, but he definitely hadn't been expecting _that_. Fish-face had barely let her out of bed to come, and for once he almost agreed. His girlfriend looked like death warmed over.

It was a somber affair and well below freezing. The only thing to be thankful for was that it had finally stopped snowing. Lack of snow didn't do much about the wind of course, but Charlie hardly felt a thing. It was nothing compared to Wallachia. Seeing everyone bundled up like it was the ice age had been rather amusing. Well, it would have been amusing at any other time.

The funeral itself was a little odd too. There were lots of flowers involved, for one thing. And before they buried the body they displayed it in someone's living room while strangers milled around quietly and ate from cheese and cracker plates. He had no idea why. At the graveyard, a thin young man spoke an unfamiliar rite over the body and kept tugging at his funny white collar. Charlie wondered if the twins had enchanted it to choke him.

It finally began to dawn on him just what he and Stella had gotten into as he gazed at the coffin. Hard as he tried to avoid it, Charlie couldn't block out what had happened in her little lab that night. What he had done.

Yes, he'd fought before. He had probably killed a few people that night at the club. But it had never been as blatantly unavoidable as seeing the dark haired boy fall down and die right there in front of him. Watching in a way that seemed sluggish and disconnected as the lights simply vanished from his brown laughing eyes.

He'd been a kid. Just a kid. Hardly as old as Ronnie. Maybe Ginny's age.

And Charlie had killed him.

What would it feel like if someone killed Ginny like that? Had they already succeeded? He tried not to think about his baby sister lying down there in that scary basement, struggling to keep breathing, but it wasn't easy to think about anything else as he watched them lower the casket into the frozen ground.

Stella drew in a ragged breath when they tossed the first shovel of dirt into the grave, but other than that she hardly seemed alive. Her dark eyes were lost somewhere over the trees, blank and unfocused. Charlie tugged her into his arms and she didn't even say a word. He worried, but didn't take his arms away. She might not care one way or the other, but he couldn't say there wasn't some measure of comfort in keeping her round little body next to him. He needed all the comfort he could get.

The hardest thing of all, worse than memories of Ginny or the brown-eyed boy, worse than the knowledge that he was a murderer, even worse than seeing Stella so far gone … worst of all was Donaghan.

Donaghan had left Charlie's life almost seven years before with every reason in the world to hate him. But he hadn't. Don just wasn't that sort of bloke. He wasn't a man who hated people. He was a man who forgave, even if he couldn't forget. He was a man who was happy as a pig in mud with a joke or a song. He was a man you could be proud to call your mate.

Seven years could change a lot.

Another man stood in his old friend's shoes now, looking naked without his eyeliner or grungy band attire. He was broken and hollow, as if all the music in the world had died along with the woman in the ground. Charlie watched him helplessly through the service, wanting to be there for his old mate but knowing it would never be his place. He was glad to see the other blokes from the band gathered there next to Don. At least the man had someone to lean on, even if it wasn't him. Besides, Charlie had his own mourner to console.

It wasn't until everyone began to leave that Stella finally snapped out of her trance. As soon as she noticed Charlie's arms around her, she pulled back and shrugged.

_Oh well. It was worth a shot. _

Thankfully, she didn't seem put off by it. It was back to the uncomfortable silence as soon as they left the graveyard. Walking quietly through the fresh snow, Charlie was at a complete loss. He had no experience with this comforting stuff! She'd said once that the witch was just like a sister. He couldn't imagine what to say. What would he want someone to say if Ginny… no, Ginny would be fine.

"Gatito?" She murmured softly.

"Yeah?"

"Would you…" she turned her head away. "…would you stay with me tonight? I don't think I can…"

"Sure."

**.ψ.**

One night quickly turned into a more permanent affair.

It wasn't that he planned to move in. Honestly! It just seemed so … convenient at the time. One night led to two. Two led to three. Three led to bringing a change of clothes. Four led to a toothbrush and an extra cloak.

Half of Charlie's flat mysteriously found its way into Stella's basement within the week.

At first he was excited. He'd finally gotten out of that cave-like excuse for a flat, and Charlie had to admit that he'd entertained a few thoughts about the, erm … benefits … that might arise from a co-habituating situation. Stella had asked him to hold her while she slept for the first few nights, and … Well you can't blame a bloke for trying, right?

Unfortunately, life never seemed to work out as planned for Charlie G. Weasley.

Things at Stella's flat had changed like a whirlwind after the Massacre of Downy Hills. Walls that had been half-finished for months were suddenly undertaken with gusto. Bare rooms were mysteriously furnished overnight. Boring brown and stifling white paint was quickly covered by a rainbow of burgundies, purples, and greens.

Stella's parents had come to stay.

Charlie wasn't exactly sure how to feel about Stella's newest tenants. Despite the fact that the girl would hardly say boo to him while they were within a hundred meters (much less snog him), he tried to remain neutral. For their part, they seemed content to do the same.

Mr. Tonks kept to Stella's library, and could usually be heard muttering over some moth-eaten parchment or talking to himself about his notes. The only other time he was aware that the man was still alive was when the two of them accidentally discovered their mutual fondness for late night snacks. Charlie had come seconds from hexing Stella's father! To make matters worse, it was soon obvious that they were both after her stash of medical supplies … namely the chocolate.

Charlie soon made a pilgrimage to the post office for mail-order Honeydukes.

Mrs. Tonks was a little harder to avoid. It wasn't as though the woman was intrusive or rude. The opposite, in fact. She seemed to often prefer her own company to anyone else's, listlessly staring into the fire or mechanically dusting the entire building for hours on end. (Charlie wondered if it was a mother thing.) When she wasn't out advising the magical community, her only other object in life seemed to be arguing with Bimby about her rights to the kitchen. The two of them were locked in an epic battle for cooking supremacy.

Personally, Charlie thought the older witch's pies beat out Bimby's pudding, but only by a dragon's whisker. Bimby, on the other hand, never bothered Stella with incessant errands for ingredients. No pie could make up for all of that hassle…

"Would you mind popping out to Diagon Alley for me dear? You seem to be out of valerian roots." Mrs. Tonks had been brewing the draught of dreamless sleep like clockwork lately, and begun to exhaust some of Stella's supplies.

"Sure, it'll be fun!" His girlfriend smiled mellowly, obviously trying to hide the fact that she knew what it was for. She was still an awful liar. "I've got an appointment at Airs & Arias this afternoon anyways. We can go right after I ride out to Catherine's."

Catherine's.

As in St. Catherine's Cemetery.

Of course.

"Stella…" He followed her out into the hall. He would go with as usual, but despite the fact that his father had made fast friends with her motersickle, Charlie maintained his own opinions.

"Oh Charlie," she shook her head with a placating smile, "you aren't going to keep after me about this are you?"

At least she wasn't snappish. After that night in her lab, Charlie had firmly decided that he and his general state of wellbeing were much fonder of the take-life-as-it-comes Stella than her strange and hot tempered side. She was back to her usual self and giving no hints about why she had acted that oddly. He honestly didn't want to know what had happened and hoped that it was just PMS. As long as she ignored it, Charlie was more than happy to do the same.

"It's not that you shouldn't go or anything, just … everyday?"

Stella pursed her lips, determined and businesslike. She wasn't snappish, but she could still be frustratingly grouchy.

"Yes. Everyday. I owe her that much."

"Owe her? Stella…"

"The next time you call me that I swear I will hex you six ways from Sunday!"

"You're missing the point."

"No, I'm not. I see your point."

"Finally!"

"I also see that it is irrelevant." She retrieved her guitar case from the hall cupboard with a level air. "I want to go, therefore I will go. Everyday."

"How long are you going to keep this up? It's not like you've got an appointment for tea or something! She's dead, Stella. Let her go."

"I don't want to 'let her go'." Stella grumbled. "Don't you tell me to let her go, like it is some sort of switch I can flick on and off!"

"Stella…"

"Bugger it all, Charlie Weasley! I told you not to call me that!"

"That's not the …"

"…point." She finished for him, rolling her eyes peevishly. "I don't care what your point is. I'm going to see Bresa today. You may come if you wish; I do not care. But know this: I will continue to go and see her everyday."

"For how long?" He repeated. It came out sounding perilously like a whine.

She got that sad faraway look and simply said "I don't know."

Charlie saw a little tear trickle down her cheek out of nowhere. Stella wasn't a girl prone to long bouts of wailing, so when she did choke up it was a sure sign of trouble. He raced for a way to get his awkward foot out his equally unhelpful mouth.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It is fine." She sniffled, brushing away his attempts to dry her face with a lopsided grimace. "I just … she … she is not here anymore."

He said nothing; just rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion.

"I miss her." She trembled a little under his hand, and Charlie could see another tear leaking down the path carved out by the first one.

"I know you do." His heart squeezed up, thinking about Ginny, still pale and unmoving as ever. Fish-face had assured him prissily on numerous occasions that 'she's not going to fucking snuff it on my watch, Weasley', but somehow that hadn't gotten any more comforting as the weeks went on.

And then Stella did something truly unexpected.

She leaned into him.

Stella didn't do things like that. Really didn't like to be touched at all, as a general rule. Oh sure, there were some exceptions. She poked people and jostled people. She could tickle like nobody's business (much to his chagrin). She hugged people, even crotchety old Moody, a feat that kept Charlie in awe of both her bravery and her stupidity simultaneously. One of her best attributes was, in Charlie's frank and caring opinion, her love of snogging. She even let him hold her while she fell asleep when the mood struck her.

But she had never once before just held him.

Not hugging, not grabbing whilst snogging, but just held onto him.

Despite his concern for her fragile female emotions, Charlie was quite enjoying the feeling of two pudgy little arms snaking around him and a soft body curled up in his lap.

They sat there quietly like that, even after the crying stopped. He wanted to ask what had taken her so long to hold him, but was afraid of ruining the moment. He almost bolted when she whispered to him.

"Charlie?" She was shattered from her crying bout, sounding sleepy and sedated.

"Mmm?"

"Do you think there is a heaven?" She asked in a small, timid voice he had never heard before, her forehead wrinkled. Suddenly the bent form wound around him seemed very much like that of an uncertain child.

Charlie buzzed into overdrive, trying to come up with a suitable but honest answer.

"I guess … I don't know." He finally submitted. "I mean, mum is sort of religious, but I never really bought into God and all of that. Doesn't mean it can't be true." He added hastily.

"No. It doesn't." She agreed pensively, curling up closer into his arms. It felt wonderful, even if the conversation was a bit odd. "Bresa believed in heaven."

He looked down at his dark haired witch, curious. "Do you believe in heaven?"

She studied his face like it held the answers she was searching for.

"I don't know." She decided, looking as ashamed as Ronnie when mum caught him sneaking sweeties before dinner. "Does that make me a bad friend?"

"Course not." He smoothed back a wispy strand of her hair, taking every chance he could to touch her like this. Somehow just holding her and touching her hair seemed a thousand times more intimate than their wildest romps on the tartan couch. "It makes you human."

"I wish I knew."

"Well, if there is a heaven, she's there, right?"

"Yeah." Stella's eyes thanked him ever so quietly before she went back to her own thoughts. "'No greater love has a man than to lay down his life for his friends.'"

"Huh?"

"Something I heard Jaci say once."

A very, very silent tear slipped down her cheek.

"It sounds about right." He held her a little closer, trying not to picture the events of that stormy night of fighting. Trying not to picture just how close he had come to losing her.

"That's why I have to go, Charlie. She … I …" Tears were pouring hot and heavy now, but suddenly Stella chortled. "I don't know about you high and mighty Gryffindors, but we snakes believe in paying our debts. Honor among thieves, you know?"

"Oh Stella…"

"Ooo, I warned you about calling me that!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** I AM STILL ALIVE!!!

Now that we have that out of the way, I must send a huge apology to all my dear readers who have been so wonderfully patient with me!!! I can't believe how long it's taken me to get back to work on this! (Please don't stone me! I'll be good, I swear!) School has been utterly exhausting, but I just can't stay away any longer. My new goal is to have this little beastie finished before book 7 comes out. (Can you believe it?) I can only hope that my absence will not keep my ever loyal reviewers from returning to my review board, because I really need all the encouragement I can get right now. I know that you are dears and will help me in my hour of inspirational need!

Oh, and again I'd like to note –for clarity's sake if nothing else- that any religious views in this chapter, real or implied, do not necessarily reflect my own. Please do not write me and tell me that I'm forcing my views on other people, that the views I've represented are wrong, or that religion has no place in fan fiction. If you insist on doing so, please note that I will be rather put out. However, if you want to inquire politely about my views or discuss differing thoughts in a courteous manner, I would be more than happy to oblige. My faith is a very big part of my life, if not the lives of all of my characters, and I dearly enjoy the occasional rousing round of theological debate. (Yes, I know I'm a nerd … but I'm a loveable nerd!)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Random-** thanks for all your kind reviews Random. They mean so much to me!

**Amber- **Thank you dearie!

**WaterInAPuddle-** Water, you are ever the darling! You're long review really helped me get back at this beastie with a will!

No. Never seen Potter Puppet Pals. Never heard of it in fact. What is it? (By the way, you picked up on another clue! The fact that she was carrying a gun is fairly important…)

In my break from this piece, I've actually been working on Moi/a special someone's long anticipated story. I even have a working title!!! I'm tentatively calling it "Just a Piece of Glass". You likey? If people keep showing a strong interest in it, I may even post an occasional snippet of what I've got so far at the end of one of these chapters. In fact since you were so quick on picking up the musical reference for the title of this story, I'll make you a little deal. If you review and can find the musical reference for this new title, I'll give you … oh, say half a chapter of the new book to wet your appetite. Sound like a deal?

**HarryPotterMagic-** Thanks for all your loyalty and lengthy reviews, dear! I'd give you a great big hug if you'd be so sweet as to grace me with more of your delightful feedback! Yes, Harry has the box. He only had two hours because … oh goodness, I'm actually going to give something away!! … because he'd borrowed Ron's pocket watch from book six, which happens to be a time turner. There won't be much time travel involved in the rest of this book really, but I had to make a little prediction about what I think JKR might intend with that watch in book 7.

Thanks for being so understanding about my 'disclaimer'.

**Karniverous-** Oh dear. I'm afraid this means I'm to be set upon by a ravening horde of wer-rats, aren't I? Crumbs. I humbly submit myself to your mercy, oh Keeper of the Were-Rats, and beg leave as an artist who needed time to be reinspired. Do forgive and continue to review! Your correspondence was one of the reasons I finally motivated myself to get back at this!


	25. Her Guitar

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty Five: Her Guitar**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Holding your breath, taking a step  
Can be a little scary  
Hearing a voice, making a choice  
Can be so overwhelming  
Here we go, hold on tight  
You never know unless you try  
The road that leads to life can be  
A place that only your heart can see_

_Leave your eyes behind  
Leave your eyes behind   
Seek and you will find  
Leave your eyes behind_

_-"Leave Your Eyes Behind', Scott Krippayne_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Purple freckles.

Who knew there was a charm for purple freckles?

A small gaggle of children giggled as he turned around the corner. Only the smug grin on Stella's face kept him from hiding in an alley until the spell was over. When the clerk in the music store looked at him funny, Charlie decided he was definitely going to need to brush up on his defensive spells if he wanted to keep her around.

He wasn't sure what made him happier: seeing the freckles begin to fade back to normal or getting out of that boring little shop. He knew good music when he heard it, but Charlie had no musical inclinations and even fewer inclinations to stick around that pinch-nosed clerk. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw on the street raised an eyebrow.

Charlie had been wondering for a while why his penny-pinching girlfriend hadn't agonized about her massive home overhaul. Now he had a niggling suspicion that he had his answer.

And it stank.

In fact, it came with its own unique aroma of Ogden's, stale tobacco, and something that might have been roasting athletic socks.

Mundungus Fletcher was a mouldering, grimy little wizard who strongly reminded Charlie of an alcoholic basset hound. The grungy fellow was always in on some cheat scheme to make a little extra dosh and lacked any trace of responsibility. With his straggly ginger hair and bow-legs, Ronnie had once compared him to Hermione's unfortunate looking cat. It had earned him a week of the silent treatment, poor kid, but Charlie had to admit he'd been on to something. Dung was a very apt nickname.

Stella, however, failed to notice half of this in her blind rush to hug the slimy little man.

"Señor Fletcher! I can't begin to thank you for everything! You have been such a dear and I…"

Charlie thought he might sick. He needed an escape route. "Err Stella, I'm going to stop in the pub for a bit…"

The Leaky Cauldron was a dim hall of sacred relief. He hated seeing her associating with people like that! It touched too closely on the past that he had learned of so recently and gave him knots the size of hippogryphs in his gut.

Tom, the ancient barkeeper, eventually caught his eye and produced Charlie's usually firewhiskey with a speed unnatural for anyone that age. He might look like a wizened grapefruit, but no one would ever say a word against Tom's bar keeping skills. Charlie paid with a grateful nod and settled back on the questionable stool with a loud series of creaks and groans, ready to wait out Stella's inexhaustible desire to attempt to be polite. He shook his head with a grin at the thought. She would never have what his mother called the 'social graces', but the poor girl really did try.

A shadow in the smoky afternoon light of the pub distracted Charlie from his daydream. The unkempt silhouette seemed so familiar, but it wasn't until the wizard sat down next to him that he realized why.

Donaghan Tremlett.

Charlie froze.

What was he supposed to say? What _could_ he say? _"So, thanks for your wife saving my life the other night. Sorry about her dying and all…"_ Or how about _"Good to talk to you again, mate! Haven't heard from you in a dragon's age. How long's it been now since I ruined your life?"_

Yes, this was going to be brilliant.

The other man sat down as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. They said hello, made the niceties. He was still the same old Don, unruffled and without a single grudge. Charlie started to feel at ease in spite of himself.

"Nice strings." Don grunted, indicating Stella's guitar with a gleam of intense curiosity in his eyes. "Can I see?"

"Uh, sure."

Somehow, despite all of the things between them that should have made such a meeting awkward, Don managed to make it feel like nothing had ever happened with just a few short words.

Donaghan reverently slid the strap over his shoulder and tested the strings with careful fingers. After a minute he began to play a soft melody that Charlie vaguely remembered from their school days. The other man's eyes slid shut with a happy sort of satisfaction and suddenly it seemed like they were back in the common room again on a cold winter day. Watching those old worn out fingers work their magic, Charlie could almost see the snow on the glass and hear the titters of the girls gathered around to listen.

"Who's R.M.L.?" Don interrupted his memories.

"Huh?"

"R.M.L." Don pointed to the antique black leather of the guitar strap, where the letters R M L were subtly embroidered among climbing thorns and bramble that almost seemed alive.

"No idea." Charlie felt an irritating pang of jealous curiosity. Had she gotten that from another bloke?

"Merlin's knickers Chuck, do you know what sort of guitar this is? These things are impossible to get a hold of! Where'd you get this?"

It was the first time Charlie had ever really paid attention to the thing. He'd seen Stella play it a thousand times. It had never looked like anything more than a dark, age-polished guitar. She didn't ever take out of the flat and had something much flashier and bright yellow for when the band played.

"S'my girl's."

Don immediately stopped playing and silently returned the instrument.

"Wha'd I say?"

A storm cloud gathered over the grungy wizard. "Got Bres into a cauldron full of trouble, she did. Never liked her."

"Look Don, I know she made some mistakes, but she's really changed. You don't even know her!"

"So she told you what they did?" He seemed truly surprised for a moment. "Bloody Nora! Figured those sickos'd keep that quiet."

"She isn't like that anymore! Stella's going down a different path in life. You've got no right to judge her!"

"I have every right, damit!" He growled and pounded his fist on the rickety table. "She got Bres killed! Tell me how that gives me no right!"

"Don't you dare blame that on Stella!" Charlie hissed, trying to be quiet. "No one forced her to be in the Order!"

The fight went out of Donaghan's shoulders as he stared at the guitar with a sigh. "But no one stopped her either."

Charlie said nothing.

"I should have stopped her Chuck." Don's face looked old and careworn in the grimy shadows of the pub. "I should have made her leave."

"You can't 'make' a witch do anything. She had a choice just like everyone else."

"She wasn't like everyone else, Chuck! She was a muggle! She had no chance!"

Charlie was stunned for a moment. A muggle? It was impossible! She'd saved his life twice! A muggle had …

"But she had that wand …"

"Wand?" Don snorted. "That was a gun you tard. You know, a muggle weapon for …"

"I know what a gun is." Charlie said quietly. "She … she was very brave."

The other man nodded sadly and was silent for a while. "She used to say the same thing about your girl."

"Stella?"

"What do you see in that one, Chuck?"

It was, unfortunately, a question he wasn't sure if he had the answer to.

It was hard to concentrate on anything but her. The way she looked at him the night before, the way she made him feel. There was a feeling of comfort and apprehension both at one time. It was bumpy, rough ground he was ridding on and Charlie wasn't sure if he wanted to go faster or sick up. Stella confused him more than anyone else on earth.

He wasn't thick. He saw the inadequacies in her. She was stubborn to a fault. She cheated, she lied. She had a very strange sense of honor that seemed to work on its own set of rules. She had a past and made no promises about never going back. She could probably manipulate harden criminals if she put her mind to it. She had gotten the better of Fred and George after all…

But Stella was so much more than just the sum of her flaws. She was warm. She loved the life without limits. She could keep a level head in situations that made him want to vomit. She was a resourceful and very accomplished snogger. Thinking about her left him up some nights.

And he saw beauty. Real honest to goodness, broomstick's honor beauty that just shone out of her sometimes. In the back of his head he knew that she wasn't exactly what most blokes were after, but the rest of him paid that part no attention. The color of her skin, the pure pleasure of her hot coco smiles, the curve of her eyelids when she fell asleep in his arms. Her eyes were like dark earth, hiding some soft growing thing down deep. He dearly wished she would let him take down her hair someday. He saw kindness in her too, and forgiveness, and an unbreakable spirit that went after what it wanted, no holds barred. He wasn't sure if he really liked that last one, but maybe he was learning to ... respect it in a twisted way.

And when he was with her, he saw himself as more of the man he wanted to be. She drove him nuts, but she made him step back and think too. Made him question and be more careful with what he thought and said and did.

There was no answer that fit.

"I … I don't know." Charlie said lamely.

"Hmph." Don grunted. "Still can't say I'll ever much care for her myself."

Charlie only sighed, not knowing what to say. A shadow of a grin grew at the corners of Don's mouth.

"Can't blame you though." His shaggy friend took another swig of his liquor with a rueful laugh. "Guess none of use our eyes much when we're in love, huh? You know, its funny Chuck. You're kinda the reason we got together in the first place."

"Huh?"

"Well, after you crashed into me at the scouting event and mucked up my leg, I couldn't go pro anymore. Had to find a new career and I figured I might as well just make the band my profession. Met Bres at one of our first mixed concerts. She had me from the minute we met."

He thought he was going to sick. He had to tell him, had to confess. All of the guilt that had been festering in Charlie for seven long years could no longer be contained.

"I was taking Felix that night Don. That's why I crashed. That's why I ruined your life. I was using enhancers."

"I know." He said quietly.

"What?"

"I know." Don repeated with a hint of a laid-back grin. "I've always known."

"But … but how?" Charlie sputtered.

"Chester. He never could keep a secret. Great with potions, but the bloke had the biggest mouth in the seventh year. Not the best choice for a supplier if you ask me."

"Merlin! How can you even speak to me? How can you sit there and say this all so calmly? I ruined your life!"

"Listen Chuck, I forgave you a long time ago. So you made a mistake. It's not like any of us are perfect. Sides, I told you. If you hadn't been such a tard, I'da never met Bres. Some things just happen for a reason."

A sudden crash from the back of the pub cut Don off. Both of them whipped around to see Stella apologizing to Tom and righting a cloak tree. She glanced over in their direction with a distinctly guilty air. It was obvious that she'd overheard them. Suddenly every part of his inner anatomy sank down somewhere below the basement.

He couldn't move.

Don mumbled a disgruntled goodbye and was gone before Charlie had a chance to say a word. All he could do was sit and watch his world go down in flames as Stella approached him. What would she say?

For a moment she just starred down at the floor playing with the tie of her brown cloak. Her fingers fluttered like nervous birds.

"I am sorry Gatito." She squeaked. "I did not mean to… Well, I did mean to, but only after I came in and heard you talking. I couldn't help myself…"

"Well, err … I guess clumsiness runs in the family huh?"

The smile returned to her warm, round little face as she grabbed his arm and the handle of her guitar case. "Let's go home."

He could only return with a queasy half smile and an obedient trot. How much had she heard? By the time she handed him a helmet and started puttering with her evil motersickle, he couldn't keep it inside.

"Stella, what did … how long were you, I mean … err, what exactly did you…"

"What did I hear?" She said with a smile.

He could only nod.

"I heard enough." Charlie couldn't breathe. "Oh Gatito, there's no need to look like you just swallowed a fly! Do you really think that any dark part of your past could faze me? After everything I have told you?"

"I, err…"

She ruffled his hair playfully and grinned. "You are something else altogether."

Charlie's eyes were drawn back to her hands despite the terrifying ride back to the flat. He had never really stopped to notice them before. Her eyes, her smile, her curves, her ears even, but never her hands.

They were average hands, really. Everyday hands. Not too broad or too boney, the fingers neither too long nor too stumpy. They were just hands, used to everyday work like so many other people's hands. Even from a distance he could see a collection of scars and calluses that almost rivaled his own. Her nails were uneven. Her fingertips were rough and hard.

Stella's hands were a puzzle. They weren't pretty in the conventional sense, but then neither was Stella. Rough and unapologetically overused, but somehow they'd became surprisingly beautiful in Charlie's mind, just another proof that she was not afraid to get them dirty when something needed doing.

They had done some unscrupulous things, those hands, but they had done some wonderful things as well.

The same fingers that had dirtied the very name of magic had wound their way around his heart. The first time he laid eyes on her, they had charmed his flesh and bone back together. They expressed a silent goodbye when she could not as she patted his back and walked into the mess hall hearth six months later. They had calmed his worries the next time he met her, cupping his cheek in the alleyway with worry in her eyes. They had raked through his hair in a decidedly pleasant fashion just an hour before. Somehow in the middle of all of that, they had got his feelings in a stranglehold. How else could he account for the fact that he hadn't run screaming when she told him about her past?

And if she could gloss over his mistakes, then he could at least do the same for her. Besides, she probably deserved it more, being the only one of the two of them who'd been brave enough to actually own up. It was only fair.

Bugger.

Just once in a while he wished he didn't have such a strong sense of fair. He didn't like admitting that he'd lost a match between them. Not that he was going to say anything out loud, but still...

What do you see in her?

Everything! I see everything in her! I want to fly up past the clouds and scream it for the whole world to hear!

Charlie knew at that moment that there was only one answer.

Love.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** Wow, this one was kind of difficult to piece together. Not really sure why. I think I may have just been so excited about nest chapter that I kept writing little snippets for that and couldn't keep my mind on what I SHOULD have been working on. Oh well, just means you you'll get next chapter that much sooner!

**Random-** Thanks so much sweetie! You keep me inspired!

**Abigail-** So glad to see you again dearie!!! I completely understand the hectic joys of college (especially since they seem to keep me from writing so often, haha!) I'm just overjoyed to have you around again. I can use all the feedback I can get! Thank you so much for understanding my disclaimer. I know those things are rather annoying, but I've written other pieces in the past and had frustration from reviewers on that particular issue. As for your PS, in the back story I have for them Charlie (our beloved blockhead) couldn't pronounce her last name –Estrella is a Spanish name, thus the double L is pronounced as a kind of y sound- so he just decided to call her Stella. Why she doesn't like it has a bit to do with her very proper upbringing and a bit to do with a secret you discover next chapter.

**Keeper de los Were-Rats-** Dances with you! You think YOU guys were glad to finally get another chapter. Picking up the proverbial pen after you put it down for a while is like trying to pass a darn kidney stone! (Not that I've tried that mind you, but you get the idea…) I'm so glad to hear from you again luv! You have no idea how much your reviews really do inspire me. Even if I'm not updating every other minute, I am updating and I hope next chapter will come along more 'soonly'. You really do make me blush with your kind words, and you are one of my favorite reviewers. As for the 'secretness', I'll do my best but I can't promise anything! winks


	26. Sandpaper Tongue

**How High the Moon**

**.ψ.**

**Chapter Twenty Six: Sandpaper Tongue  
**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I guess you could say I'm a little afraid  
What if you go away? I've seen it before,  
I've been here before.  
If I have to love myself, tell me how to love myself.  
What's there to love about myself?  
I just want to see that as a person you want me.  
But I'm feeling the pain of all these bags in the way,  
And I'm thinking you're just gonna run away,  
And I can't catch you._

_I guess I would say that I want you to stay  
'Cause you have this strange knack,  
Adds a glow to my black as you chase it all away.  
And I hope that you can see I will someday leave these things.  
I am waiting to be free.  
But I'm feeling the pain of all these bags in the way,  
And I'm thinking you're just gonna run away,  
And I can't catch you.  
Oh, I want to catch you._

_-'I Can't Catch You', Sixpence None The Richer_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sometimes Charlie wondered why he still read the paper.

Headlines steadily grew grimmer as the weeks passed. By January, the muggle death toll had reached nearly 600. The magical count was not far behind. In February there was another attack on Hogwarts herself, spurring endless debates on how best to secure the castle and flooding old Professor McGonagall's post with suggestions. (Charlie, of course, knew that the best solution was a herd of dragons around the perimeter.) Abductions, murder, and torture were no longer even guaranteed to make front page news.

But every now and then a tip would secretly make headway for the Order and save lives. It was a very tiny glimmer of hope in the clouded skies of darkness, but it was still a glimmer. Frankly, Charlie Weasley would take whatever light he could get. Though he had only been involved in a handful of the rescue missions, two more nameless deatheaters had died by his wand. The nightmares were getting harder to ignore.

Sometimes he dreamed of the boy with the brown laughing eyes. Sometimes when he lifted the masks off of the lifeless corpses, it was Kingsley or Don or Tonks or Fred. Sometimes it was Stella. Worst of all were the nights when he dreamed of Ginny, who still lay pale green and barely breathing in the room next to that bloody morgue.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the dreams had been his only problem. It was silly to be afraid of a dream. Especially silly when you woke up in the warm, round little arms of the girl you loved, when you could touch her face as she slept and remember what was real and was an illusion. No, the dreams were the least of Charlie's problems.

It was the waking world that was starting to rub his scales the wrong way. Every morning felt like such a chore, every commute to Diagon Alley via those strange muggle 'tubes' like a numbing hex to his heart. As he herded various dragons from cave to cave for their rounds it felt as though the perpetual darkness of the vaults was beginning to press in on him. During his hours spent shoveling vast heaps of dung, he wondered if one day it would just swallow him whole. Hardest of all was feeding time. It wasn't the gore of the eagerly mangled, mail-order deer carcasses that would have made most people a bit ill, but because of the sad, second-rate lives these unparalleled beasts would never even realize they'd been reduced to.

Was he like the dragons? The thought often bothered him while rinsing out Odie's newest love-nips. Charlie couldn't help but draw parallels between the confined lives of his charges and his own. It was at times like that when he missed Wallachia the most.

Old images of soaring above the nesting grounds and the stark crispness of Katya's peak against an October's full moon warred with the pale imitation of freedom that he knew now. He could still smell the must of the research barns, with the golden specks of light stirred up from the haylofts. He could hear the crooning of the ridgeys that rumbled through your bones from a mile off. And the wind … Circe, the wind. Every breeze was a haunting tease of the furry he'd once flown through everyday. Sometimes if he tried hard enough he could almost feel the snow rasping his skin raw as he raced Krum through the double pass to the east. It was like a phantom limb.

Every day came down to a fight, but Charlie knew somewhere in the steady part of himself that it didn't matter. He pushed it to the side and pressed on. Life would get better. Besides, he always had something to look forward to when he punched out. No matter what mood research had put her in that day, Stella always had at least a small smile for him. Oh, he might not see her for the rest of the night, holed up down in her makeshift lab that had –much to Charlie's dismay- uprooted his beloved tartan couch, but there was that smile.

Sometimes Charlie wondered if he couldn't manage to _live_ on that smile of hers.

Yet even forgetting the comfort of his hot-coco witch, all of his problems seemed so very petty when compared to fears of You-Know-Who, whose power was a stubbornly growing presence just out of sight. They were frustrating though. Again Charlie wondered just why he _was_ he was shelling out five galleons and a knut every year to be depressed via post.

Suddenly a sharp whizzing flew past his ear, breaking Charlie's concentration.

He blinked wildly and let the paper fall onto the soggy grass, seeking the source of the attack.

"Sorry 'bout that Charlie!" Tonks squeaked from a pile of charred boards a few meters away. "I didn't mean to…"

Twitching an eyebrow, he turned to find the weapon and discovered that he'd nearly been impaled through the eye with a rusty nail.

"Err, right then… You want to watch where you're flinging those things?"

Her attempts at an apology were cut off by hoots of laughter. They both turned to see everyone doubled over with laughter. Lupin had gone red in the face, and Charlie's dad was barely holding himself up.

"It's not funny!" He shouted grouchily and heard Tonks echo.

"Then why are we … why are we laughing so hard little bro?" Bill's scars contorted strangely over his grin.

"I could fix that for you…"

"Give over Charlie." Kingsley rumbled warmly. "Wouldn't have happened if you'd been watching her."

"What, and stop mooning over Myra?" Bill cackled. "Not a chance."

He _wasn't_ mooning! He'd picked up the ruddy paper to _stop_ thinking about her! "Yeah, well…"

"I do _not_ need **watching**!" Tonks shrieked, not for the first time, brimming with indignation. "I'm a grown woman! There's got to be something better to do than this!"

"We might check up on the bonding solution." Mr. Tonks suggested in a rustling voice, effectively turning the conversation. "I believe it may be finished."

So it was that the group tramped over to the bare remains of Stella's childhood home.

As an angry, pent-up winter slowly drifted into a dull, boggy spring, it had became undeniably clear that the flat was simply not big enough for both Stella's parents and themselves. As soon as the ground had half-way thawed, a crew had been rounded up to rebuild Downy Hills. Arrayed in a grubby mix of old robes, cast off work gloves, and patched muggle clothing, the small team had spent a lot more time getting muddy than getting the house built. It would never be a headquarters again, but it would at least get the Tonks' out of Stella's flat. Merlin, he would have moved mountains to get them out of there, especially after the incident in the shower…

Fortunately, all that Charlie was required to do at the moment was watch Tonks.

It had also been decided that she should wear safety equipment for her own protection.

'Safety equipment' ended up consisting of a pair of Stella's lab goggles, bits of muggle sportswear for something called scatboard, –Charlie had yet to figure out why anyone would play sport with a board made of scat– and an odd shaped green bowl on her head that hooked under the chin with straps.

To make completely sure that she didn't hurt herself (or anybody else for that matter) it had also been unanimously decided that Tonks should do the most simple task they could find (pulling nails out of old boards) without magic and at a safe distance. That was when Charlie had gotten wrangled into watching her.

She had not been amused by any of this, and loudly threatened her new husband with several acts that made everybody but Bill and Kingsley blush and cough.

Yet even Tonks in all her outlandish glory was allowed to come and examine the puzzling result of one of the solutions that had been brewing.

"I don't know about this, you lot." Bill frowned at it, tilting his head like he always did when he was considering something.

Lupin prodded the concoction with his wand suspiciously. When it wiggled about at the touch he crinkled his neatly trimmed mustache and made no comment.

"Are you sure this is right?" Mr. Weasley asked cautiously.

"Why's everybody looking at me?" Tonks inquired as innocently as she could … which wasn't saying much. No one said a word, but everyone just stared. "I swear! I didn't go within a hundred meters of the ruddy thing!"

The staring continued.

"Actually, this may just be correct." Offered Mr. Tonks as he surfaced from a nearly Neolithic spell book with a scholarly tone. "It appears to have all the qualities of the completed description, and it is a bonding formula. Meant to hold up walls remember." He hoisted Stella's strange old book. "This is a construction manual after all, but it being in ancient Mongolian doesn't really help. My Mongol's a bit rusty. I could be a bit off on some of the translation…"

Everyone was now staring at Mr. Tonks with the same stare they had just directed at his daughter. He shrugged and gave them a dusty, nervous little apologetic grin. Charlie was beginning to see the family resemblance.

"Nice dad." Tonks grinned cheerfully, smacking her chewing gum and slinging her arm around the muggle-clothed man affectionately.

"I suppose we could try it." Lupin gave his wife a little lopsided smile. "No harm if it doesn't work."

"Unless it blows up." Tonks giggled.

"I'm game for explosions." Kingsley Shacklebolt, a friend of Bill and Tonks, rumbled with a slightly dangerous gleam in his eye that made Charlie think of an enormous, bald-headed five year old boy with his first fireworks. "Course I don't think there's much to your theory, rookie. This looks about as explosive as a pile of vomit."

"I dunno." Said Bill, his scarred scalp reflecting the mucky light of the spring afternoon. "Charlie, you remember that summer when the twins tried to use Ginny as a tester?"

"You mean those puking pat things?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Bill grinned as their dad just shook his head. "All the little puddles kept blowing up! The loo got so bad that the ghoul managed to backfire out of the plumbing!"

Mr. Weasley began to chuckle. "You mother was so angry with them that night that she threatened to … err, I mean … that was very wrong, of course. We should never have let them slip that into her kippers…"

They all had a few good laughs at the childish but never the less hilarious idea of exploding vomit and each one of them silently vowed, not for the first time, to never EVER accept anything from either of the twins no matter how innocent it might seem. Eventually work recaptured their attention though.

"I still say it looks like vomit." Kingsley Shacklebolt boomed with a helpful grin as he went back to consulting Mr. Tonks on aligning the lumber for a section of wall. "Vomit soup. Or petrified vomit maybe."

Tonks perked up from her little corner of the brown garden grass and readjusted her comical goggles, nearly removing Charlie's ear with her hammer in the process. "I concur, doctor." She commented thoughtfully, unaware of his ear's narrow escape. "It kind of smells like your socks when you leave them under the bed too long, Lulu."

Lupin laughed at her wrinkled nose and shook his head. "Occupational hazard of marrying a longtime bachelor, Dora. And don't call me that."

"Call you what Lulu?"

"Dora!" Lupin's ears turned a brilliant shade of dragon's fire red and Charlie was strongly reminded of other things that run in families.

"I'll stop calling you Lulu when you stop calling me Dora, Lulu." Tonks ruffled her distraught looking husband's hair, much to his dismay, as she picked a lint ball off his patched argyle sweater vest. "You know how much I hate that name. It sounds so … _girly._"

Bill, who was still attempting to make sense of using the aptly dubbed 'vomit soup' and not making much progress, sat down and asked no one in particular: "Why exactly did we agree to this again?"

Charlie really had to think about it for a moment. Mr. Tonks was there because it gave him a chance to dig into Stella's arcane book collection, and Charlie's dad came because Stella, who was orchestrating the whole affair but conveniently elsewhere during the actual work, was being cheap and insisted they do a good deal of the labor by charming funny muggle instruments instead of hiring someone. Charlie was convinced that his dad would swim the fiery lakes of hell themselves if it meant he could poke and prod at his precious muggle bits.

Bill was there because Charlie had decided that if he was going to be dragged into something like this then he'd be darned if he was the only one.

As for Charlie … well, it would never cease to amaze Charlie just what Stella could talk him into.

Then again, talk probably wasn't the right word. She would just wait until the rest of the occupants of the flat were duly engaged and then she would strike, yanking him unexpectedly into a corner or empty room for a good snog.

Now clearly Charlie had no hesitations about the snogging part. He instigated the act as often as he could, in fact. But sometimes Stella used those, his moments of little brilliancy, to a very unfair advantage and he would end up making promises that he never would have otherwise. It was a frustrating situation. Charlie, not for the first time, privately wondered just why he was with a girl who would manipulate you as soon as kiss you.

All his questions seemed to fly away when he was with her though.

"Tonks, what are you…"

A horrible ruckus whipped Charlie around to find a pile of boards, several upturned cans of nails, half a cauldron of the 'barf soup', some twitching elbows and a tuft of bubble gum pink hair.

"Ow." Grunted the pile of rubble.

"Dora!"

"Lord, rookie! What are you up to now?" Kingsley grumbled good-naturedly.

"What happened to watching her?"

"I was … That is I …" How had he ever gotten this bad? "I only turned away for a second and …"

"Oh, you might as well go find the girl." Bill laughed. "You're too moon-eyed to keep your head on anything else. Gulping gargoyles Charlie, you're almost as bad as the one-witch-wreaking-ball here!"

"Hey! Tonks freed one leg from the jumble with and indignant grunt.

"You have to admit, he does have a point." Lupin helped her out.

"Does not!" She flounced angrily back to her boards full of nails and began to attack them.

Lupin looked lost and confused.

"It's gotta be a witch thing." Kingsley rumbled to Charlie and Bill with a conspiratory chuckle. "Are yours this bad?"

"Worse." Said Charlie, just as Bill replied. "You have no idea."

And there it was again. He had thought of Stella as _his_ again. Oh, not in the sense that he could own her or anything. Stella would have beat that idea out of anybody's head at first sight. But it was more that just that sense of knowing she was his girl. He wanted more. He was bursting to tell her what she meant to him. Traipsing through the muddy gray hills in search of her, Charlie realized that was what terrified him most of all.

By the time he spotted Stella's round silhouette kneeling in an old pasture up ahead, all other thoughts were long gone. He tried to work up the courage to talk to her. It would be a shame to waste a chance alone like this. He rehearsed what he could say, but everything sounded cheap or stupid or silly. And what if she didn't feel the same?

Charlie had never been this committed to a witch in his life. Oh, he'd seen his fair share of girls, but all of them had walked in and out of his life and left him in pretty much the same condition as they found him. He'd been ok with that. More than ok with that, truth be told. He had been happy to be free of the annoying tie-downs a 'deep' relationship might have.

But when he'd come home from Wallachia to find all his old mates married, some of them already cleaning spit-up and changing nappies, something had snapped inside. Charlie realized for the first time in his life how lonely it could be without someone to complicate your life.

And then, almost as if by a miracle of Mrs. Weasley and Bresa Tremlett's God, Stella had arrived. She brought more strings with her than Charlie would have ever thought possible. But he didn't really mind. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like he ought to be somewhere else, that he ought to be doing something else. He could be, well, if not exactly comfortable with the way life was then maybe … half-housebroken. She gave him an anchor, a reason for going to work and waking up every day.

He couldn't loose that.

When Stella saw him she smiled that warm, hot-coco smile that produced butterflies the size of guinea pigs somewhere in his spleen and motioned for him to sit down with a dirt encrusted trowel. Haphazard little rows of white stones, a few holes in the ground, and a half-dozen old fruit canning jars full of white cloth told Charlie exactly what his girlfriend was up to. He shook his head and had to grin. For all her protesting that she hated Herman's "smelly pests", Stella was a big old sap for those freaky little were-rats of hers. Oh, she would have lopped off his ears for at the suggestion, but how else could you explain the fact that she took the time to make a ruddy rat graveyard?

Personally, Charlie thought it more than bordered on eccentric. The first time she'd taken him up here, Charlie asked her why she didn't just feed them to one of Herman's birds. This was a mistake. Stella had swelled up like a puff-fish and informed him in a sanctimonious tone that "these creatures did humanity a great service, Charlie Weasley! This is the least we can do for them."

He wondered if this was the reason for those idiotic rumors about Stella's sanity and half-thought they might have a point. Not that it changed much on his end of things. She was still Stella whatever she did with her weird little rats and he loved her. He _was_ occasionally surprised and disgusted by her … idiosyncrasies … but he did love her.

Charlie's feelings for her, however, were proving to be an annoying obstacle. His tongue was mysteriously dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth much like the vomit-soup solution.

Trying to avoid the fact that he was a stupendous coward for wasting this chance, Charlie contented himself with quietly watching her etch little names into the blank stones with an unfamiliar spell. None of the names followed any pattern he could think of.

"Clinton, Thatcher, Blair, Nixon… What sort of a name is Nixon?"

"Muggle politician. I'm beginning to wonder if it was really wise to name the poor things after politicians. I don't want to think that I jinxed it, but this batch has been the fastest in the history of the project to snuff it." She said, looking rather put out. "I just don't know what went wrong! We were making such progress with the nitrate levels in the soil and then … poof! They were dying like ice pixies in Tahiti. You know, maybe it was the water samples. Or the change in conditions after the attack. I wonder if it…"

Charlie began to tune her out. She could drone on about this stuff for hours. If you weren't careful she could actually put you to sleep. He'd done it once or twice. Besides, Charlie wasn't fond of dwelling on the fact that their tartan couch, like the rest of Stella's basement, was occupied by lab equipment and cages of those ruddy were-rats. Charlie had never before in his life met an animal he truly despised, not even the horn-tails that used to maim him at Wallachia. Heck, he didn't even really mind Odie at the bank and that dragon was the only creature to ever beat out Fred and George for attempts on his life. Dragons were magnificent creations that just happened to have a few nasty little habits. The were-rats, however, seemed to be on the warpath for Charlie and Stella's budding romance and therefore Charlie hated them as he had never hated any creature before.

He despised them.

He detested them with a blue flame of loathing.

**.ψ.**

By the time the sun began to melt there was still sandpaper in Charlie's throat. He had hardly spoken whilst the morning turned to afternoon, still wrestling with his jumbled emotions. Even Stella, despite her natural state of stupendous obliviousness, managed to notice that something was up.

"You have not said a word to me all day, gatito." She didn't even have the grace to look the least bit ashamed when she asked if he was still angry with her for, err … persuading him to come along. In fact, Stella looked downright pleased with herself.

"If I said I was, would you stop doing it?"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell." She smirked, her plump hands on pudgy hips.

Charlie could only shake his head with mock disappointment. "Then I suppose I'm not."

"Good." She smugly went back to work. "Besides, I was beginning to wonder if one of your scaly friends had decided to rip out your tongue."

"Nah. Odie's been behaving like an angel." He lied through his teeth, glad for once that Stella rarely noticed what was right under her nose. The burns he'd hidden under one of his old and unseasonably warm Weasley jumpers itched as he spoke and Charlie wished, not for the first time, that dragon's fire was as easy to heal as a normal burn. "You shouldn't worry about the creatures down there anyway. If anything in the vaults were going to maim me, it'd be your sister."

"Hey now!"

"It's true. Ever since they got back from Samoa she's as grouchy as an injured Erumpent when Lupin isn't around."

"You've got a point." Stella chuckled, pausing her project to flop onto the ground next to him belly-up. "I swear I have never seen two people more obsessed with each other! Oh, Nyms is the more, err … demonstrative … of the two, but Remus is just as bad."

"And by demonstrative you mean as randy as a kneezle in heat?"

Stella rolled her eyes. "Something like that. I'm not sure how they manage to breathe when they are constantly attached to each other like that. I know that they are newlyweds, but honestly! They both go all moon-eyed at the mention of the other's name. Was your brother this bad?"

"Not in public." Charlie admitted, growing red. "I made a point of not asking just what they were doing while Bill was holed up in that hospital room though."

Charlie instantly knew he'd just said exactly the worst thing possible. A thunderhead suddenly loomed over Stella and there was a very predatory look in her eye.

Brilliant Charlie.

Just brilliant.

"They were doing _what_? In my hospital?" He came just short of reminding her she didn't work there anymore. "While he was my patient? Did they have any idea what kind of complications they could have caused? That's probably why we had so much trouble with his case! When I get my hands on the two of them, I'm going to…"

"Whoa, slow down! I was just joking, Stella! I'm sure Fleur was a perfect angel."

"Hmph." She grunted. "They better not have. And don't call me that".

Charlie thanked all twelve of his lucky stars once again for the fact that he was a much better liar than his girlfriend.

Having no desire to repeat the purple freckle incident until he figured out a counter-jinx (which would be a while since he was abysmal with defense) Charlie decided not to challenge her on the whole nickname thing. He still didn't think it was fair that she got to call him gatito whenever she wanted. He didn't even know what that meant for Circe's sake!

"This Lulu business is frustrating though." Stella mused absently. "Boys used to be the only thing I could ever embarrass her about, but with this she just shakes her head and ignores me!"

"Not to mention the fact that she attacks the man whenever she sees him. In front of _whoever_ is there." Charlie agreed heartily. "He comes to visit her on lunch sometimes. Did she ever tell you he gets motion sickness? Bloke looks like a broom-wreck every time the goblin dumps him out of one of those carts. Griphook said Lupin fainted once and nearly toppled overboard into the big underground lake."

"Oh Circe! And I bet will wager that she attacked him the minute the poor man rolled onto solid ground, no?" Charlie nodded, grinning, and she shook her head. "I will never know how she gets him to let her do that! I am not sure I want to. I love the girl, but I do not think anyone ever informed her that too much PDA can be a bad thing."

"There was a night when they came to dinner and halfway through Bimby's sublime roast Remus had a look of abject horror on his face." She rolled over and began to shake with giggles. "We all tried to ignore it, but Nyms was … well you know Nyms. She kept bumping the table while she … in the… oh Circe, you should have seen Ted's face! And Lulu … I mean …" Stella ran out of breath, drumming her fist on the ground with her eyes squeezed shut and Charlie couldn't help but remember how much he loved her laugh. Loved her…

"Still," she giggled as she caught her breath and went back to work, "I have to admit that it is rather sweet."

Charlie grunted in what he hoped she would take as agreement and said nothing. The whole subject had an unfortunate way of reminding him of what lay so heavy on his mind. Then again, just about everything made him think about it lately.

The whole affair made him a bit nauseous.

Yet in spite of his nerves twitching like they'd been doused in Bulbadox powder, Charlie couldn't help but smile as he watched her. The secret of what he felt was bursting to get out. When he looked at her it was like she'd been waiting there forever, since the beginning of time. Like they had been waiting for each other. She fit. Everything clicked. It was just that good, that honest, a feeling of complete RIGHTNESS. There was no other word for it but that: right.

So why was it so bloody difficult to explain?

Trying, as usual, to take his mind off of his failings, a larger white stone in the back of the small clearing caught Charlie's eye. Not the stone itself, exactly. The name written on it.

"Gato?" Charlie was intrigued. "Like Gatito?"

"Si." She grinned. "That's your namesake. Though to be fair, gato is a cat and gatito would translate to something more like baby kitten."

"Baby kitten?" He asked suspiciously.

Charlie Weasley was not a baby kitten. Charlie Weasley was a wolf or a bear or –better yet- a dragon.

NOT a baby kitten.

"What do I have to do with baby kittens?"

"That first day I met you, when you came in the tent holding your own leg … do you remember that? You reminded me of something."

"Yeah, I remember. I was in agony, and you spent half the time laughing at me. I thought you were the maddest witch I'd ever met."

"And now?"

"You're still the maddest witch I've ever met." He deadpanned.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, gatito." She batted her eyes at him mockingly.

"Oh it won't, will it?" He lunged and pinned her to the ground with a grin, trapping her hands under his.

"No." She giggled, not at all ruffled by the rough and tumble game. "It will not."

Charlie bowed down over her and whispered softly in her ear. "We'll see about that."

"You think so?" Stella tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth were twitching with that tell-tale grin as her breathing picked up pace.

"Yeah." Charlie's lips were all but brushing hers, and he could see his own excitement reflected in her eyes. "I do."

"Charlie?"

"Yeah?" A voice in his head was rocketing around and screaming at him to tell her, but his throat was so dry he couldn't speak.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Right."

It took them a while to come up for air.

"I still don't get it." He pondered out loud as they rested and watched the gray storm clouds shuffle in from the east. "What does a detached limb have to do with kittens?"

"I had a kneezle when I was young." Her eyes turned cloudy, flying off faraway from the present. "He was arrogant and stubborn, and the instant I met you I was reminded of him. It was just the sort of thing he would have done, get himself maimed and hobble in on his own power trying to pretend nothing had happened, even if he was holding his own leg."

She grinned, and Charlie wasn't sure if she was thinking of him or the kneezle.

A sudden softness came over her. "He was a gift from my first real friend."

Charlie waited.

"I didn't have many as a child. Friends, that is. Buela thought most of the neighbors beneath us and those she might have allowed me to associate with thought she was quite mad." She smiled fondly. "They were not far wrong on that of course, but it never mattered much to me whether she was off her head or not."

"Dotty as she was, the family name still commanded a great deal of respect in that country. I was eventually introduced to a small boy near my age, and we took well to each other. His name was Emilio Cavalone."

She ran a finger along a line in the soft dirt.

"Milio and I grew up together, playing wizards and goblins, running amok in the gardens, terrorizing the house elves … the usual kid stuff. When I turned seven he gave me a kneezle kitten for my birthday. Being the creative soul that I am, I named him gato." Again she smirked at a scene only she could see, somewhere just on the other side of the trees. "It was his mother that picked the kitten out of course, an elegant gesture of a purebred animal from her beloved son to the daughter of another prominent family. I'm sure she was probably trying to wrangle a marriage contract for me out of Abuela at the time."

Charlie held Stella a little closer, a tad ruffled by the idea of anyone having a marriage contract with her. Stella just laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You have nothing to worry about, you ass. I am not betrothed."

Though he was a bit startled that she could tell what he was thinking (and slightly more startled at exactly _what_ he had been thinking), Charlie did not fail to notice the hollow ring to her laughter.

"What happened?"

"He died." She said simply, brushing some dirt off of her grungy robes.

He was as gentle as he knew how, holding her even closer. "Oh, Stella."

She pushed him away softly. "I'm fine silly. It was a long time ago."

"How did he…" Charlie trailed off and Stella sighed, picking up her stubby wand and going back to the little white headstones.

"The Cavalones were lovely people. I was terribly fond of his mother especially, even if she was a bit of a stiff body." Her wand fell from the little stone block, and she folded her hands in her lap. "But they held some beliefs that were contrary to the dark … to you-know-who's teachings."

"So?"

"People who disagree with that bastard tend to have pretty short life expectancies, Charlie."

It took him a minute to understand, and all he could manage to say was. "Oh."

"So, erm … what happened to your kneezle?"

At this she sighed deeply but gave no other signs of distress, showing even less reaction than she had to the mention of her friend's murder.

"It was a few months after I saw Milio for the last time." Her features were so still, almost lifeless. "Mother and father came to see Buela, and Gato was misbehaving. Little monster was tearing through the house for hours that day after the june bugs."

"And?"

The tightlipped smile she smiled at the small headstone in front of them was empty and chill. "Mother didn't care for his antics."

Charlie waited for the rest of the explanation for several minutes in silence, but she said nothing.

"But what happened to him?"

"He was such a mischievous little thing." She smiled again faintly, playing with the little embroidered stars and moons on the hem of her dirt encrusted robe and not looking at him. "Used to steal my socks."

"Stella?" He was beginning to edge on confusion and a slight sense of worry. "I don't understand. What happened?"

She looked up and answered him with blank features and a half shrug. "Mother didn't like him racing about."

His brain felt about as blank as her face. What was she going on about? What happened to it?

Then it hit him like a bulgder in the gut.

"Do you mean to tell me that she … she …" He hung slack-jawed. "You must be joking!"

She sent him a look that was more appropriate for an argument over who'd won the 1942 World Cup. "Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Do you mean to tell me that your mother … she …" He couldn't bring himself to string the whole sentence together out loud. "Your pet? Your own mother? That's mad!"

Stella's raised eyebrows indicated that he was a bit slow on the pick up.

"I doubt even the dark lord himself would contest you there." She said with a half grinning shake of her head and a snort. "Bellatrix Lestrange is not widely considered to be the sanest individual in the magical community."

Charlie's eyeballs nearly exploded from his head.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Authoress's Notes:** What to say? I've gotten eternally frustrated with this beasty, but I'm still determined to plow ahead. In hopes of spurring myself onward, I'm going to try to resist reading the final book until I've at least gotten all of my rough drafts for this story finished. So yeah, this is, I'm sure, going to be horribly non-compliant with HPDH. Eh. That's life.

Oh, I'm kind of curious. What are your reactions to the end of this chapter? Like it? Hate it? I will say that this has always been part of Stella's character from the very beginning. I didn't just throw it in at the last second for some interesting drama, but rather it was the origin of this story. I have an odd sort of affection for Bellatrix, you might say. It is complicated. If anyone is dying to find out, tell me and I'll explain it next chapter.

**Random-** As always, I am overflowing with gratitude for your faithful reviews dear!

**SpontaneousImplosion- **Thanks! Kind words never go unappreciated! No, no worries. That's not OCD. Stella is pronounced like the beer, and that's actually the backstory joke behind her nickname. Charlie, when he first met her, couldn't pronounce the Spanish double ll in her last name, so he thought it would be funny to call her Stella instead. Stella, as you might remember, is not a big drinker, and was peeved. Thus began the epic saga of the nickname.

**Keeper of the Were-Rats- **Thanks again luv! Your sweetness is always such a great motivator. I hope that you enjoy uncovering more 'secretness' this time around!

**Hoeun-** I can't begin to tell you how touching your review was. Thank you so much dear! Those are the sorts of things that every writer loves to hear. Thank you thank you thank you!

**WaterInAPuddle-** I think I am going to call you Puddles from here on out.

In other news… HUG! I can't tell you how good it was to hear from you luv! It always seems that your reviews come at the perfect times to pick me up out of my nasty writing slumps and give me a firm yet loving boot in the posterior. You are a peach.

And yes, you got the refrence. I am floored! I didn't think anyone would get that! For being an incredible detective and a more than wonderful supporter, you have certainly earned a sneak peak at JAPOG! I hope you enjoy!

**.ψ.**

_She perched there on the same stool at the bar like a harpy eagle on its roost, night after night once her band was done. She ordered the same drink, traditional martini. With those unnaturally long fingers of hers, the utilitarian stem of her glass became something fragile and delicate. Light sparkled and refracted from the swaying liquid. The act of drinking became an art form. _

_He sat there and wondered idly about a pale, thin pair of lips._

_Once, when he was small, his grandmother had taken them to Norway for the holidays. The old woman sometimes said that her daughter had given birth to a fish instead of a boy. And it was true; he never felt more at home than in the water. Norway had been the experience of a lifetime, with its dazzling, angry seas, its playful hot springs that wrapped you up like a smoky kiss, its glacier lakes that were so cold that even he had quickly admitted defeat._

_A thin jagged country, not so unlike the thin, jagged woman that he sometimes amused himself with wondering about. Craggy mountains, impenetrable forests and dark folklore that forbid anymore than an idle thought or two. The way she carried herself was all look and no touch. Come to think of it, she was probably aiming more for the 'don't even so much as think about looking or I rip off your bollocks'. He smiled into his rum. _

_That one was a mystery._

_She was wind driven and melodramatic and impossible as any northern ocean. Frigid enough to chase away any who sought the thrill of diving in to something cold, just like those glacier lakes. She really could have been a mountain lake, with her eerie, unblinking eyes. _

_She wasn't particularly pretty. In fact, she was downright dull. But her eyes drew you in, almost because they were so unnaturally odd. Still, vacant water that went down forever into a dangerous world where no human being could survive, hidden by an icy serenity that threw the world back in your face when you tried to enter. She was like the glaciers themselves, sharp and unforgiving. She was hard and unbreakable as diamonds._

_As he watched her drink, his heart looked at her and called her Norway. _

_And it made him curious._


End file.
